


Amnesia and Deleted Scenes: The Art of Selective Editing in Film and Memory

by ShootingtheMoon



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Britta Perry, Canonical Character Death, Cuddling, Drinking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Fix-It of Sorts, Frottage, Jeff/Annie is not the focus but it is a thing that will happen, Light Bondage, M/M, Memory Loss, Oral Sex, Recreational Drug Use (but it's just weed), Road Trip, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Therapy, This will get sexy eventually so I'm marking it explicit as a warning, Troy and Britta are not endgame but their relationship follows the show, fake dating (kinda)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:53:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 60,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24749434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShootingtheMoon/pseuds/ShootingtheMoon
Summary: "His lips buzz and his mind swims with the realization that he does love Abed- is really, truly, horribly in love with him- and that he’s about ninety percent sure Abed only orchestrated all of that as a (frankly quite impressive) homage toEmpire Strikes Back."Troy and Abed confess their feelings on the night everyone forgot. This causes some problems.Loosely follows Community canon from Season 2, Episode 6 to Season 5, Episode 5.
Relationships: Annie Edison/Jeff Winger, Troy Barnes/Abed Nadir, Troy Barnes/Britta Perry
Comments: 196
Kudos: 403





	1. Chapter 1

Troy has learned that life plays out as one long, complex chain of cause and effect. Abed told him once that he admires how movies and TV can simplify it, make it easier to follow. The best movies, he said, take that complexity and distill it to the point that each scene is integral and none of the others play right without it. He called it “economy of storytelling.” Troy said it sounded like dominos.

In the movie of Troy and Abed, there’s a scene that got cut. This is a problem for two reasons. One, _Troy and Abed_ is the best movie ever made, so missing any part of it is unacceptable. Two, neither of them even knows it’s missing, because it happened on the night everyone forgot.

A lot of things happened that Halloween, only some of which Troy remembers. He remembers getting ready before the party in Abed’s dorm. He remembers waking up cold and feeling like death in the library, with some cop telling him he’d been roofied. He doesn’t remember Shirley having sex with Chang, because he’s pretty sure he wasn’t (or at least he hopes he wasn’t) there for that, but he knows it happened because of the voicemail Chang left.

He doesn’t remember calling Abed a nerd (small blessings) and he doesn’t remember the zombies, or how he heroically saved everyone from said zombies after being the first black man to make it to the end. These are all arguably huge things to not remember, but for the movie of Troy and Abed and “economy of storytelling”, they could be cut without losing anything too important. The scene in question is essential. It’s the missing domino, and it went like this:

**

Abed helps Troy shove himself through the window as he clings to the shelving with his other hand. The metal gate gives a worrying creak, zombies groaning and pushing against it. Troy extends his arms out to pull Abed up after him but Abed pauses, glancing back at the horde. He turns to Troy with his mouth set in a determined line. Time slows as Troy looks at him, the sound of zombies fading away until only the pants of his own breath remain. Abed’s hair is mused, his forehead shines with sweat, and Troy can read his limited expressions well enough to detect the hint of fear in his eyes. He reaches for Troy but instead of grabbing his hands he grabs Troy’s face, stretching towards him to press their lips together.

Troy’s mouth was already open, which Abed takes as an opportunity to immediately deepen the kiss, swiping his tongue along Troy’s lower lip. He gasps into it, his insides burning like he just took a shot of straight vodka. It’s rough, desperate, and _perfect_. Troy can’t believe he never noticed how badly he wanted this, or when he started to want it in the first place. _Maybe always_ , he thinks.

Abed breaks the kiss after not long enough and Troy opens his eyes to see Abed’s staring back at him, pupils blown wide.

“I love you,” Troy says, a bit breathless.

The corner of Abed’s mouth quirks up, ever so slight. He steps down off the shelf. “I know,” he replies, and Troy screams as he watches the zombies descend upon him.

Troy lowers himself down on the outside and starts running to the front doors of the library. His lips buzz and his mind swims with the realization that he does love Abed- is really, truly, horribly in love with him- and that he’s about ninety percent sure Abed only orchestrated all of that as a (frankly quite impressive) homage to _Empire Strikes Back_.

**

The thing about deleted scenes is, while they may not be in the final cut, the ghost of them still lingers. You don’t realize it when watching the movie in theaters, but once the DVD comes out and you watch the bonus features you can start to see how that scene would fit in with the rest, how others subtly reference it, how it changes the way you view a character or a plotline. The scene may be missing, but the rest of the movie was written with it in mind, and it behaves as though it were still there.

The same goes with Troy and Abed’s Han and Leia moment. It still has an effect, even if they don’t remember or acknowledge it in subsequent scenes. They might remember it eventually, though. (Abed would call that a spoiler, and also argue if that’s the case, then this is not so much a deleted scene as analepsis or burying the lead. But that’s just semantics.) If the movie of Troy and Abed is a line of dominos, as Troy likes to imagine, then the spot missing a domino is somewhere after the beginning of the third act but still awhile before the end. The trick is finding the missing domino and putting it back before it needs to fall, or risk stopping short of the grand finale, walking away unsatisfied.

But don’t worry. No more spoilers.

**

The feds Neuralyze their memories away and the paramedics bandage them up, and Troy and Abed decide to go ahead with their sleepover as planned. They only thing they change is the movie.

After Abed switches off _Marmaduke_ , they sit in silence for a minute. It was a good idea to watch something lighter, to change into pajamas and throw popcorn at each other like normal, but now that it’s over Troy has more difficulty ignoring everything else.

“You are being uncharacteristically quiet,” Abed informs him.

“Yeah, I’m just…” Troy grips the edge of the couch with his hand to stop it shaking. It’s the bandaged one, so flexing it makes it sting, and Troy tries not to think about how much their cuts and abrasions look like bite marks. (Bite marks! What the hell?) Abed covers Troy’s hand carefully with his own, which helps release a bit of tension from his shoulders. “The whole thing’s kinda fucked up, you know?”

Abed nods. “Agreed.”

“I mean, I can’t remember _anything_ , and I’ve gotten pretty drunk before, but I’ve never…” His eyes sting and he tries to blink his tears back. It’s not that he’s embarrassed to cry in front of Abed. Quite the opposite: Abed is the only person Troy feels completely comfortable crying in front of. He just isn’t ready to have a break down yet. “The worst part is that I still feel so scared, and I _know_ it was something that happened at that party, but I can’t remember what it was, just the feeling, and, and-” Troy takes a shaky breath in, tries to hold it together.

“Me too,” Abed says. His thumb rubs gently back and forth on the back of Troy’s hand. “I remember feeling scared, and sad. And I think I was very happy for a minute, which seems incongruous with the apparent tone of the rest of it.” Abed pauses for a second, then quieter, “I don’t like that someone messed with my head and I don’t know why, or how, or who it was. It doesn’t make sense, narratively. I can’t figure out the motivation.”

“And they’re still out there somewhere,” Troy adds, staring blankly ahead at the now dark TV screen. “What if they come back?”

Abed tilts his head to the side and doesn’t reply for a bit. Troy knows he’s running scenarios in his head and waits patiently for the results. “In the event they do return, it is unlikely it will be soon. That sort of confrontation with a villain is more season finale material, if not final season material. We have time to prepare, and time enough to not concern ourselves with it at the moment.” Troy lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Abed pats his hand a couple times and stands up.

“You can take top bunk, if you’d like.” Abed goes towards the light switch and flicks it off.

“Actually, Abed. If it’s cool with you-“

“You would like to sleep in the bottom bunk with me?”

“Yeah,” Troy says, looking at the floor. “Is that okay?”

“Of course,” Abed flashes a closed lip smile and gestures to the bed. Troy pulls back the covers and crawls in first, Abed slipping in behind him. “Probably safer that way.”

Troy hums in agreement as Abed gets comfortable, examining the underside of the top bunk. He hears Abed shift, and Troy rolls over to face him. Abed is already looking at him, the orange glow of streetlights filtering in through the blinds and reflecting off the angles of his face. It makes him look softer. _And a little beautiful_ , Troy surprises himself by adding.

“You can cry, you know.” Troy opens his mouth but Abed cuts him off before he can say anything. “I noticed you holding back earlier. You’re safe now, so if you want to it’s okay.”

Troy nods and feels the first tears spring free. Abed shuffles closer and puts an arm around his waist. He feels so relieved to be here, as he hides his face in Abed’s neck, to know that Abed is there and be able to touch him to prove it. He’s not sure why this feels like a miracle. Abed is usually there when he gets overwhelmed, and knows he needs physical contact to help make it not too much anymore. But he has a strange sense that this outcome of the evening was not a guarantee.

Abed slips a hand under Troy’s shirt (Abed did some experimentation on the best methods to comfort Troy early on in their friendship and found skin-on-skin to be most effective) and rubs his back as Troy shakes and sobs. They stay that way until Troy calms down enough that he’s no longer crying, just sniffling and shivering. “Better?” Abed asks.

“Yeah,” Troy says. He expects Abed to move away now that he’s finished his outburst, but instead he tightens his grip and pulls him closer. Troy sighs, sleepy and content.

He’s just about to drift off when Abed whispers, “I don’t know where this sentiment is coming from, but I’m really glad you’re alive.”

Troy smiles. “Me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've watched through all of Community twice since they put it on Netflix and now I'm back on high school me's bullshit, which is shipping Trobed. (They're in love, you can't change my mind)
> 
> This fic started with two thoughts: One, what if they weren't cowards and actually did the full Star Wars reference in Epidemiology by having Troy and Abed kiss? And two, how would I rewrite the show to turn Troy and Abed into slow burn romance?
> 
> Updates on this will probably be sporadic, but I'm going to try to keep it somewhat frequent. I have the whole fic outlined (right now it's at 15 chapters, but that might change) and I've written a few chapters, but I haven't done them in order.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and let me know what you think!


	2. Chapter 2

Since Troy and Abed woke up in each other’s arms the morning after Halloween, the nature of their relationship has changed. They have somehow grown even closer: A feat both had previously deemed impossible to pull off, short of sewing themselves together. (This is a concept they’ve discussed more than once.) Casual touches have increased in frequency. When they watch movies in Abed’s dorm, Troy will always end up resting his head on Abed’s shoulder. Sometimes they want to lay down during longer marathons and, justifying it with the fact that there’s only one couch, one of them lays on top of the other. When they walk to class together, they hold hands and swing their arms as far as they can go. (Troy hopes that one day they’ll go all the way around, like on a swing set, but Abed told him that’s an anatomical impossibility. Troy keeps trying to prove him wrong, and Abed has yet to stop him.) At lunch they can be found squeezing themselves together in the booth, pressed shoulder to shoulder, and stealing food off each other’s plates. Shirley has, on several occasions, reminded them to save room for Jesus while clutching her purse and eyeing them warily.

Abed claims it’s a natural progression, that their shared traumatic experience has brought their characters closer as people. Troy looks at it like levelling up their friendship.

Although things are different, for the most part they are also better. They settle into their new norm and Troy stops thinking about it so much. However, there are a few moments of extra-weirdness that Troy, while he lies awake at night in Pierce’s mansion, can’t stop turning over in his head.

**

The first happens during the bottle episode.

Troy watches Annie start to unbutton her cardigan and thinks, _Sweet_. She rips it off, giving a generous view of her cleavage, to which Jeff responds by calling her a “precocious little bitch” and shrugging out of his hoodie. Then suddenly everyone is starting to take off their clothes, and Troy thinks they’ve finally lost it, or maybe stumbled onto the set of a weird porno, but either way he might have had this dream before.

Abed, damn him, stops them _just_ before he gets a good look at Annie’s bra. “You’re being completely illogical!” he shouts. Annie pauses with her tank top halfway up and Troy huffs quietly in annoyance. “We need to flip the table, divide the group by gender, and then search each other in our underwear.”

Which is how they end up with the study room in even further disarray, tables flipped on their sides and resting on chairs, which (unfortunately) prevents him from seeing the women across the room strip out of their clothes. That’s probably the point, but still.

Troy finishes taking off his pants and turns toward Abed, finding his view blocked by Jeff. He’s already seen Jeff naked before (far more naked than this, in fact) when he went crazy playing pool, so it’s nothing new. He needs to remember to ask Jeff how he stays in such good shape, though. The man prides himself on putting so little effort into everything that Troy has trouble imagining what his workout routine would be like. He realizes after a moment that he’s staring and covers by pretending to be interested in the material of Jeff’s underwear.

Later, when they’re working on cutting off Pierce’s casts, Troy lets his gaze wander to where Abed stands, covering the wheelchair’s mouthpiece with his thumb. And okay, maybe Abed looks like a bunch of popsicle sticks glued together to make a person when he has clothes on, but underneath it’s all lean muscle. He supposes that shouldn’t be so surprising. He remembers, vividly, the ease with which Abed slammed his hand on the table when they arm wrestled last year.

Troy feels sweaty. Cutting through plaster is harder than it looks, he guesses. His eyes drop to the smooth skin on Abed’s thigh and then he looks away, because he’s only wearing his briefs, and his blood is rushing around in ways that will make everyone more uncomfortable than they are already if his body doesn’t calm the fuck down, thanks. He can’t even see the girls right now, but maybe it’s been long enough that even the _thought_ of naked ladies gets him going.

He tries to focus on the scissors but finds that he keeps glancing back at Abed. One of the times he looks, Abed is also looking at him, but not at his face. Abed’s lips are slightly parted, and if Troy didn’t know any better, he’d say that Abed’s eyes were glued to his ass. Troy’s ears are hot as he quickly tilts his head back down. He shifts a little, thinks about all the puppies in the parade dying in a horrible accident.

He doesn’t have to imagine that for long. The smell once they manage to pry off Pierce’s casts is the most effective boner killer Troy’s ever experienced.

**

The next weird thing happens when they build the blanket fort.

It’s the coolest idea either of them has had in a while, easily in the all-time top ten of Troy and Abed escapades. Troy never thought it was possible to be so popular for doing something so unabashedly nerdy, but here he is.

And yet, he feels somehow outside of it all. Because Troy and Abed created the fort, everyone comes to them with permits for parades and expansion proposals. They’ve made this thing that makes people happy, something everyone loves, but they spend so much time directing it that they don’t really get to be in it. It’s not like he hates it, watching everyone else have fun around him. It makes him happy in a quiet sort of way, kind of like when he was in elementary school and would watch another kid open presents at a birthday party.

But he wonders if this is how Abed feels all the time. Detached, floating above everything and observing without really experiencing. Troy likes that they’re in on it together this time, that at least Abed isn’t alone. Still, part of him wishes they could go back to when this was only theirs. When Abed seemed like he was part of the scene, rather than behind the camera.

So he’s relieved, in a way, when Abed initiates Protocol Omega. They crawl to Abed’s room and before Troy goes to grab the sock he turns to Abed, opening his mouth to ask him if he’s sure. Abed’s face is a lot closer than he expected. Troy’s breath catches. Abed looks the faintest bit sad, and the thought pops into Troy’s head that he should kiss him. He doesn’t know where that came from, or why he’s now a little nauseous. He feels a sharp stab of pain in his head. It must be from a movie, where the main characters kiss while everything crumbles around them. It would be a great reference, he knows, if only he could remember what he was trying to do an homage of.

Abed just stares at him, eyes dark, and tilts his head. After a moment, he blinks a few times and reaches for his sock. They nod at each other. Then everything comes crashing down.

**

The latest in the series of strange occurrences comes after Troy’s botched 21st birthday party.

He’s just dropped off Britta and is on his way to Jeff’s apartment when he says, “Wait, Jeff. How are Abed and I going to get home?”

He glances in the rearview to see Jeff slumped in the back seat. “Oh, yeah. This is my car.”

“I guess we could walk back to Greendale?” Troy suggests. There’s no way he’d be able to make it all the way to Pierce’s mansion, but he’s sure Abed wouldn’t mind letting him stay the night in his dorm.

“Or we could crash at your apartment,” Abed says, wigging his eyebrows at Jeff.

Jeff groans. “No, no. Y’know what?” he slurs. “Just bring it back in the morning.”

Troy pulls up and parks outside of Jeff’s building. “Really? Are you sure?”

Unbuckling his seatbelt, Jeff starts pawing at the door handle. “Yeah, dude. Go nuts. Happy birthday. Now I don’t owe you one anymore.” He chuckles, stumbling out of the car. Then he pokes his head back through the door and points a finger at Troy. “One scratch, though, one fucking scratch, Troy, and I swear to God I will murder you.”

Troy puts his hands in the air. “Understood. Night, Jeff.”

At some point during this exchange, Abed had gotten out of the car and gone around to the other side. Now he slides into the passenger seat and the two of them grin at each other. “Jeff’s car!” They say at the same time.

Troy pulls back out into traffic. “On to Greendale.”

“There’s actually somewhere else we could go, if you’d like,” Abed offers. “Jeff may no longer owe you a birthday, but I still want to give you one.”

Troy bites his lip to cover his smile. “Sounds cool. Where to?”

“It’s a surprise. Turn left here.”

It doesn’t take them very long to get there, even with Troy making a wrong turn. (Left and right can be hard to remember under pressure, alright?) They pull into the lot of a 24-hour diner, one of the classic ones with the neon signs and checkered floors.

“Milkshakes and waffles?” Abed asks. “I’ll pay.”

“Sweet,” Troy breathes, reaching out to do their handshake.

It’s fairly empty inside, just a lone man nursing a cup of coffee at the bar and a middle-aged waitress who wanders over to take their order once they slide into a red vinyl booth. (Two chocolate milkshakes and two orders of waffles, both with copious amounts of whipped cream.) Troy loves it in here, can’t believe he’s lived in Greendale his whole life and didn’t know it existed. It seems like the kind of place you’d film a scene from a movie in. Maybe that’s why Abed likes it so much. That, and this is one of the best milkshakes Troy’s ever had in his life.

He scoops some of the whipped cream off the top of his milkshake with his finger and licks it off. He looks up to see Abed staring at him. Must be zoning out. Troy forgot that Abed’s a little drunk.

Abed clears his throat. “Is it good?”

“Amazing,” Troy gushes. He takes a bite of his waffle and then asks, mouth full, “So, what did you get up to at the bar?”

“I played some Asteroids. I also got a drink thrown in my face.”

Troy swallows. “What? Why?”

Abed shrugs. “I was talking to this guy about _Farscape_ and he asked me if I would like to have gay sex with him. I said no, and then he threw his drink in my face.”

“What a dick!” Troy says. Abed nods. “I’m sorry, buddy, that really sucks. And I thought my night was bad, listening to Jeff and Britta argue about the same stupid bar the whole time. You and I should’ve hung out instead. I love listening to your _Farscape_ theories. I wouldn’t even have asked you to have gay sex with me,” he jokes.

Abed smiles a little at that. “That does sound preferable,” he says. “Plus, you’re much better looking than he was.”

Troy’s face heats up and he ducks his head to take a sip of his milkshake. There’s something about compliments from Abed that makes them mean so much more than the ones he gets from other people. Maybe it’s that sometimes other people say nice things to Troy to get him to do what they want, which is what happens in half the conversations he has with Jeff, but he knows Abed wouldn’t bother to say anything he didn’t think was true.

Part of him is also stuck on the (probably unintended) implication that Abed’s answer to the man might have been different if the man were Troy, but he doesn’t want to examine that too closely.

“Thank you, for this,” Troy says, gesturing to the food on the table. “Birthday officially saved.”

Troy reaches over to pat his hand and Abed’s eyes crinkle up. “Good. Do you want to go take Jeff’s car for a joyride after this?”

“Hell yeah. Stop reading my mind.”

Abed shoots some finger guns at him. “Cool. Cool cool cool.”

**

And then it’s now, December 9th, after the movie’s over and everyone’s said their goodnights. Pierce is lingering in the doorway, backlit by fluorescents from the hallway as they shine into the dark room.

“You coming, Troy?” he asks, twirling his car keys in his hand. Troy looks at Abed, who’s sitting next to him on the couch with his knees to his chest. Now that most everyone’s left he’s starting to draw in on himself, almost like he’s been frozen over again. It makes Troy’s palms sweat.

“I think I might stay here, if that’s cool with Abed.” Abed nods, staring straight ahead.

Pierce shrugs, turning to go. “Suit yourself.”

Once the door clicks shut behind him Troy shifts closer to Abed. He brings his arms up, then falters at the look of panic on Abed’s face, worse than he’s ever seen it. “Can I...?” he asks.

Instead of a verbal response, Abed stands up. For a horrible moment Troy thinks might have done the completely wrong thing, but then Abed sits facing him on his lap, wrapping his legs around Troy’s waist and his arms around his torso like a koala. Troy jumps a little at first but quickly returns the embrace, one hand on the back of Abed’s neck and the other on the middle of his back.

Abed smushes his face into Troy’s shoulder and Troy runs his fingers through Abed’s hair, the soft stuff at the nape of his neck, and scratches his scalp like he likes. Abed just clings to him tighter. Troy doesn’t say anything for a long time, afraid he might startle Abed like the stick-legged baby deer that he is. But then he hears Abed sniffle.

“You okay, buddy?” He winces because it’s a stupid question, and Abed pulls back far enough to look at him. His eyelashes are all damp and stuck together and his cheeks look wet.

“My face is leaking,” Abed says hoarsely.

“You’re crying?” For all the times he’s cried in front of Abed, Troy has never, ever seen Abed cry. He feels kind of honored, but mostly he doesn’t know what to do.

“No. Maybe? I don’t know.” Abed’s eyes are wide and as he blinks, a tear falls into the space between them. “This doesn’t happen to me a lot.”

Troy pulls the sleeve of his shirt over his thumb and uses it to dry Abed’s cheeks, then cups the side of his face. Abed pushes slightly into his hand.

“What can I do?” Abed shakes his head and turns his face into Troy’s palm. “Do you want to go lay down?” he tries.

Abed nods and doesn’t move. Troy considers asking him to get off but decides against it. He sighs, grabs under Abed’s thighs and stands up. Abed inhales sharply, grips Troy’s shoulders and crosses his ankles behind his back.

Troy shifts so he can hold Abed with one arm and uses the other to fold back the covers. He lays them on the bed and, after giving Abed time to get comfortable, pulls the blanket back over them both. Troy holds Abed to him and Abed bunches the front of Troy’s shirt in his fist.

“I don’t understand,” Abed says. Troy can feel his lips move next to his chest.

“Don’t understand what?”

“Why it hurts.” He starts to shake, so Troy presses his hand into the dip of his spine. “She already left. I didn’t expect it to feel like this when she did it again. I thought it would be easier.”

“I don’t think that’s the sort of thing that’s ever easy. I mean, she’s your _mom_.”

Abed exhales through his nose, drums his fingers on the mattress. “I guess,” he says. “Although I think I understand better now why she did it, after what happened today. I can be a lot to deal with. I don’t know why you put up with me.”

Troy’s chest feels like it did that time he slammed it into the monkey bars as a kid, like it’s been beaten raw with a meat tenderizer. He wants to find every single person that helped lead Abed to that terrible conclusion and punch them. “Because I... We all love you, you know that, right?”

“That also what she says,” Abed points out.

Troy huffs. “Well, then she loves wrong. Love is being there, even when it’s hard. Love means ‘putting up’ with people. And besides, all of us are a lot to deal with sometimes. Don’t you remember three weeks ago, when Annie lost her shit over a _pen_?”

He can feel Abed smile. “The bottle episode.”

“Yeah. The bottle episode,” he laughs. “Anyway, the point is that you shouldn’t worry that we’re gonna leave you ‘cause of stuff like this, ‘cause then we’d all have to leave everyone else, too. And that’s not gonna happen. We all go a little nuts sometimes. That’s why we need each other.”

Abed turns his head up to look at him, chin digging into Troy’s sternum. His eyes are shining, but Troy thinks it’s with happiness this time.

“Troy,” he says, sounding deadly serious. “You’re my favorite person in the world.”

Troy’s heart glows. “And you’re mine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got this done faster than I thought! 
> 
> If you're someone who's waiting for the Jeff/Annie, that's going to start happening a little in the next chapter.
> 
> As always, thank you for reading, and let me know what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

Troy is still busy being mad about how Jeff’s stupidly vague “no intimacy” rule tricked him into not masturbating all year (seriously, he knows he’s a Jehovah’s Witness and everything, but he thinks he should get to be an honorary monk now) when Annie asks Jeff, “Then what’s been going on with us all year?”

Everyone turns to look at Jeff at once, Britta with an extra-incredulous expression, and Jeff freezes. “What are you talking about?” He asks, going for confused and coming off defensive.

“I’m _talking_ ,” she says, “about the Annie of it all!” Jeff shifts his weight, putting his hands on his hips and flexing his jaw. “The long looks, the stolen glances...” Annie continues. “The general atmosphere of ‘would they, might they’?”

Jeff glances at Britta, who now has her arms crossed and eyebrows raised. “Annie, I think you’re reading into some things,” he says.

“Oh, really?” She scoffs, indignant. Then she starts describing a flashback montage, and Troy’s got to admit she has a point. After all, it’s impossible to forget the graphic description of her body that Jeff whispered into his ear last year.

By the looks of it, almost everyone else is thinking something similar. “Oh, give me a break!” Jeff says. “I mean, you could do the same thing with Troy and Abed.” He gestures toward the two of them leaning next to each other against the table as if that proves his point, and it takes Troy a second to processes what he’s saying.

Troy stands. “Wait, what? What’s that supposed to mean?” He demands. Abed pushes himself up to stand next to him, tilting his head while eyeing Jeff with a furrowed brow.

Britta looks thoughtful. “Well, there was the Valentine’s Day dance,” she says, “when you and Abed tried to compete for the same girl and ended up dancing with each other.” Jeff, who wasn’t there, widens his eyes. The rest of the study group nods, looking up and to the side for a flashback.

*

Troy holds onto Abed until he hears the librarian’s footsteps fade, then he lets him go, smoothing the front of Abed’s sweater and letting his hands linger on his chest.

“We’ve still got about half this dance left. What do you want to do?” He asks.

Abed thinks, then gives a stiff shrug. “I don’t know. When I still had the possibility of having a date I planned on recreating some prom scenes from teen rom-coms, but I suppose that’s out now.”

“Oh, man. That sucks,” Troy says sadly, scuffing the linoleum with his shoe. Then he perks up. “Hey, wait. Couldn’t we just do them together?”

Abed brightens. “We probably don’t have time to do all of them, but...” He grabs Troy’s hand, dragging him back into the cafeteria, where something poppy and upbeat plays through the speakers. Bringing them to a stop in the middle of the dance floor, he says, “You be Julia Stiles, I’m Heath Ledger.”

Before Troy can reply, Abed grabs him around the waist with one hand and holds Troy’s hand with the other, pulling him in close. Troy rests his free hand on Abed’s shoulder to steady himself and Abed leads them in slowly swaying circles while everyone else dances wildly around them. Troy sighs as they lean their heads together. Whatever cologne Abed wore to impress the librarian tonight smells seriously good. He’s going to have to borrow it sometime, or just convince Abed to wear it more often. Closing his eyes, he smiles.

*

“See?” Britta says, smirking at them.

“That was for a movie reference!” Troy protests. Britta purses her lips.

“Are none of you people familiar with late 90s teen cinema? Has no one in this room seen _Ten Things I Hate About You_?” Abed asks, in disbelief.

Everyone goes “ _Oh_ ,” at the same time. (Except for Piece, who pretends he understands a second later.)

“Heath Ledger,” says Annie, dreamily. Jeff frowns at her and she snaps out of it, embarrassed. “What about the week after Abed’s birthday?” She asks, shifting the focus off of herself. “You guys had a romantic candlelit dinner at that fancy restaurant!”

*

“The gentleman will have the lobster,” Abed says, closing the menu and handing it to the waiter. “And I will have the shrimp scampi, hold the shrimp.” Leave it to Abed, Troy thinks, to find a way to order buttered noodles at a fancy restaurant.

“Right away, sir,” The waiter says coolly, taking their menus and walking to the kitchen.

When Abed looks at him Troy’s grinning so big he’s scared he might rip the sides of his mouth. “Did you see that? He didn’t even have to write anything down!” Troy gasps. “Do you think he has a computer in his brain that he keeps all the orders in?”

Abed raises his eyebrows. “Cyborg waiter?”

Troy swallows his sip of no-no juice. “Man, I _knew_ I should’ve brought my Kickpuncher costume!” One of the women sitting at the booth behind Abed gives Troy a weird look.

“Yes. Cool—" Abed starts nodding, then stops. “No. You said you wanted a fancy adult dinner, right?”

Troy sighs, deflating a little. “Yeah, you’re right,” he mumbles, grabbing a slice of bread from the basket and biting into it. He moans. “Oh, my god. It should be illegal for bread to be that good.” He holds it out to Abed, who’s blinking at him owlishly. “Here, try it.”

Abed stretches his neck out to tear off a bit of it with his teeth, maintaining eye contact with Troy in a way that makes him itch under his collar. Abed closes his eyes as he chews, then opens them, staring at the basket with what can only be described as heart eyes. “That’s good bread,” he says, taking a piece for himself.

After they’ve practically inhaled the whole basket, Abed asks, “Not that I’m not enjoying myself, but why exactly did you want to do this? Not the food part, obviously. I mean the ‘fancy adult’ part.”

Troy fiddles with the napkin in his lap, letting the clinks and quiet murmurs of the restaurant fill the silence for a minute. “This is gonna sound kinda stupid,” he grimaces, looking back up at Abed. The other man gazes at him impassively, waiting. “I guess I got kinda... jealous, of Jeff? When you were doing your _Dinner With Andre_ thing. I don’t know. You’re older than me and you just got another year older and I worried that maybe you’d want to start doing more adult stuff. I wanted to show you I could do adult stuff, too.”

Abed tilts his head at him. “But I only did _My Dinner With Andre_ because that’s what I thought Jeff wanted, and I thought the conflict in that relationship demanded it. I don’t want to do adult stuff. I want to do fun stuff, with you.” He tells him this like it should be obvious.

“Oh,” Troy says, feeling giddy and stupid, thinking maybe he should slow down on the no-no juice. “That’s good. Me too.”

“Cool. We can bring the Kickpuncher costume next time.”

The number at the bottom of the bill ensures there won’t be a next time, but Troy thinks it was sweet of him to offer, all the same.

*

“Explain that!” Annie tilts her chin up, looking smug. Shirley stares at them in shock, resting a hand on her stomach.

“That’s easy,” Abed says, calm as ever. “It’s a good restaurant, and Troy had never had lobster before.”

“Yeah!” Troy shouts louder than he intended. “And all the tables were candlelit, it wasn’t just ours!”

“Okay, fine,” Jeff says as he stalks closer to them. Troy moves slightly in front of Abed, narrowing his eyes at Jeff. “Let’s pretend that makes sense. Then, shall we discuss the other day, when I walked in on the two of you in here—” Annie gasps and Jeff holds up a finger. “And Abed was curled up asleep on your lap, wearing your jacket?”

Shirley and Annie both “Aww” before slapping their hands over their mouths.

“He was cold and sleepy, Jeff! What was I supposed to do, let him _freeze_?” Troy curls one hand into a fist, inhales audibly through his nose. Then he feels Abed’s hand on his shoulder, thumb rubbing little circles into his back, and he instantly relaxes.

“Oh, come _on!_ ” Jeff points to Abed’s hand and Abed stills before starting to pull away. Troy puts his hand over Abed’s to keep him there. “Do the two of you ever _look_ at yourselves?” Jeff asks.

The rest of the study group makes various noises of agreement. “And I thought Jeff was the gay one,” Pierce says.

“The only thing those stories prove is how awesome our friendship is,” Troy argues, moving back so Abed can wrap his arm protectively around Troy’s shoulder. “You guys are just jealous.”

“There aren’t many portrayals of extremely close male friendship in media, so the only lens you have to interpret our relationship through is a romantic one,” Abed adds.

Jeff rolls his eyes. “Please. That’s bullshit!”

Abed ignores him. “Will they, won’t they dynamics between men and women in a sitcom ensemble cast, however, are well documented: Ross and Rachel, Sam and Diane, Jim and Pam...” he points out, giving a meaningful look to Jeff. “Also, you and Annie have kissed twice, and in context of that, all of your further interactions get cast in a more romantic light. Nice try, Jeff, but you can’t deflect that easily.”

“Yeah, Jeff!” Annie says, triumphant. “Stop deflecting!”

The group devolves into chaos after that, yelling at each other about how Jeff does _not_ have a thing for Annie (Jeff), how it’s creepy that Jeff has a thing for Annie (Britta), and how Britta should be more upset about how Jeff has a thing for Annie (Shirley).

Troy just lets them fight, grateful to have the attention off of himself for the time being. He cranes his head up at Abed, who’s watching this like he wishes he had a box of Milk Duds. Troy smiles, fond, and leans into him a little more, resting his head on his shoulder.

**

Abed did not understand, of course, (though he would be pleased with himself if he did) the dramatic irony of what he said to Jeff that day. Nor could he have predicted the absurdly large cash prize that would turn their annual game of paintball assassin into yet another all-out genre bending war. (Nor how one of those aforementioned genres would parallel so perfectly with certain forgotten scenes.)

The Greendale Community College paintball game of 2011, much like that of 2010, has provided students with an opportunity to make a foray into high-concept action-adventure, as well as play out important plot points that advance the arcs of their characters and their relationships. Several of these plot points have already played out in the form of an Old Western style shoot-out, but as the genre shifts to early 80s sci-fi, we find a few more narrative threads begin to weave together.

**

Troy stands at the front of the room alongside Annie and Abed as Annie explains the plan to their fellow rebels. “This is why we have to agree right now that whoever wins, we give the money to Greendale,” she says, and everyone starts shouting their protest. “To repair the damage and save our school!” She yells. “Abed, tell them.”

Troy glances at Abed, who has crossed his arms and shifted his weight to one leg. “Whatever, pal,” he says, slipping into a voice that is not his own. It’s lower, smoother, and oddly charming. “I ain’t in it for your revolution. I’m in it for me.”

“Wait, Abed,” Annie says. “This was your idea!”

Abed breaks character as he leans over to Annie. “I know, but I’m calling dibs on the Han Solo role before Jeff slouches into it by default,” he tells her in a hushed tone. Then he turns to the crowd and calls out, “Star Burns, I need that vest.”

Star Burns laughs. “Oh, yeah, right.”

Abed begins to stalk towards him. “Give me the vest, laser breath,” he says, dangerously, in a way that captures Troy’s full attention, “before our conversation gets nasty.”

Going from sarcastic and condescending to thoroughly intimidated in a matter of seconds, Star Burns pulls off his vest and hands it to Abed, who shrugs it on. It doesn’t look like much when Star Burns wears it but paired with Abed’s billowy shirt and wiry frame Troy can understand, from an objective standpoint, the appeal. Abed catches Troy staring as he makes his way back to the blackboard and shoots him a wink. It’s different than normal, something suggestive in the curl of his lip. Troy’s heartrate picks up.

“What does that make me, then? Leia?” Annie asks.

Abed shakes his head. “Troy’s Leia.” He blinks, as though he’s startled himself, before quickly recovering. “You may be young, white, and brunette, and those things may have historically won you a leading role in a _Star Wars_ movie, but for our purposes it’s too predictable.” He nods towards Troy. “Troy also has more experience in homage. Plus, I don’t think he could bear to let a gorgeous guy like me out of his sight. Isn’t that right, your worship?” Abed says, leering at Troy with full space smuggler bravado.

Troy balks at that, caught, before leaning into his character. He shakes his head, dismissive. “I don’t know where you get your delusions, laser brain.”

Annie rolls her eyes at the two of them and Shirley raises her hand.

“Question, how long is the game gonna last? ‘Cause Andre’s at home with the baby—”

“Shirley!” Annie admonishes. “Andre is fully capable of taking care of a baby by himself. _We_ need you. I can’t afford to lose a single soldier.”

“Oh, now you’re the leader?” Jeff asks from the where he sits, lounging with his feet up, in the back of the room.

Annie puts her hands on her hips, fixing him with a challenging stare. “I don’t see you stepping up.”

“I don’t step up to being leader, Annie. I reluctantly accept it when it’s thrust upon me.”

She scoffs, opening her mouth to argue, when Garrett interrupts to point out a small droid rolling through the door, outfitted with a camera and a grenade of paint.

Troy watches, horrified and frozen, as the thing comes to a stop in the middle of the room. Magnitude takes a running leap at it and Troy feels hands grab him by the waist and lift him over to the other side of an upturned table. As he’s settled onto something warm and comfortable, he hears the dull splat of the explosion.

Arms tighten around him. “Gotcha,” A rough voice whispers in his ear, and Troy realizes it’s Abed’s lap he’s sitting on. And that Abed’s the one that lifted him, full on _lifted_ him, like he weighed nothing. It’s a wonder he has mind enough to remember his lines.

“Let go,” he says, flustered, and Abed only squeezes him tighter.

“Don’t get excited,” Abed teases, again with his lips right next to his ear, making the side of Troy’s neck breaks out in goosebumps.

Troy exhales shakily. “Captain, being held by you isn’t quite enough to get me excited.”

With that, Abed releases him and Troy immediately scrambles off. Abed stands, offering his hand and pulling Troy up after him. “Sorry, sweetheart,” Abed smirks, “but there’s no time for anything else.”

Leaving Troy to even his breathing out, Abed goes to check on Magnitude, who Troy can see is covered in pink paint and fake dying in Annie’s arms. Jeff is speaking into the drone’s camera, apparently with Dean Spreck on the other end. After getting in his final word, Jeff tosses the camera aside and begins to address the other students.

“Greendale Human Beings, it is now clear that we have no choice but to team up and defeat City College,” he announces, flashing everyone a winning smile. “I also have no choice but to accept the role thrust upon me.”

“And what role would that be?” Annie asks, and as Troy watches her step in front of Jeff and frown up at him, he thinks, _oh, no_.

**

“Jackpot.” Troy says when they find the right utility closet. It took a few more minutes of Jeff and Annie bickering over who got to give what orders, but eventually Troy, Abed, and Shirley were sent off to retrieve the stash of paint from last year. Putting the three of them together was one of the few things Jeff and Annie agreed on immediately. It makes sense. Troy and Abed always go together. (Though Troy-as-Leia protested being stuck with Abed-as-Han, to which Annie responded by huffing and telling him to quit it with the _Star Wars_ bit.) And Shirley is just a badass, so Troy’s glad to have her along.

He tells her to keep watch, then starts trying to move the cart the buckets are stacked on. It won’t budge.

“Here, help me with this,” he says to Abed, who comes up behind him.

“Sure thing, your worship,” Abed says, bracketing Troy with his arms and covering Troy’s hands with his own.

Troy freezes at the heat of him pressed along his back before shrugging him off. “Would you please stop calling me that?”

“Sure, Leia,” Abed says as Troy kneels down to check the wheels. There’s his problem: They’re locked.

“You make it so difficult sometimes,” Troy mutters, feeling around for the release.

“I know, I really do. You could be a little nicer, though,” Abed says. Troy finds a lever, but it’s in bad need of oil, fighting against him when he tries to press it down. “Come on, admit it. Sometimes you think I’m alright.”

With a click, Troy manages to unlock the wheels, but pinches his palm in the process. He stands, shaking out his hand and gritting his teeth. “Occasionally. Maybe. When you aren’t acting like a scoundrel.”

Abed takes his hand, checking it over, then starts to massage it. “Scoundrel?” He asks with an amused quirk of his brow. “Scoundrel? You like me because I’m a scoundrel.” Abed takes a step closer and Troy’s lips part. “There aren’t enough scoundrels in your life.”

“I hope I don’t get shot waiting out here,” Shirley calls, sickly sweet but clearly irritated, from the hallway. The two of them are on opposite sides of the closet by the time she steps in the doorway. “I’d hate to go home to my babies.”

**

Troy watches Jeff and Annie get all up in each other’s space as they argue about whose plan is better, noses nearly touching, Annie poking a finger into Jeff’s chest. Troy rolls his eyes. “The Annie of it all,” indeed.

He grabs his gun out of its holster and fires it at the ceiling. The room goes quiet. Jeff and Annie seem to finally realize they’re surrounded by other people and jump apart, awkwardly looking at anything but each other. “I’ve got something to say,” Troy announces.

“I don’t take orders from jocks,” Garrett squawks, “because they don’t talk to me.”

Abed pulls his gun and holds it low to the table, pointed at Garrett. “Watch it, quasar face,” Abed warns. “Troy’s far more than just a jock, and he’s a far better shot than the likes of you. So listen up, or you’ll be floating home.”

“Thank you, Han.” Troy smiles at Abed, who gives him a curt nod. “Okay, I think we should split the troops in half and carry out both plans simultaneously. Annie, your plan will lure people off the ice cream truck, allowing Jeff’s troops to take the stronghold.”

Annie and Jeff both say a smug “you’re welcome” before turning to glare at each other.

**

Splats of rapid paintball fire come from down the hall and Troy has a sinking feeling that Annie didn’t make it. Abed radios Shirley to tell her to pull the alarm while Troy tries to fire at the City College troopers, only to hear an empty click. He ejects his clip to double check, but it’s exactly as he feared.

Abed tries to shoot, also to no avail. “I’m out,” he says, lowering his gun.

Troy grimaces. “Me too.” He peeks his head around their cover and sees the troopers start to advance. “Looks like this is it.”

He hopes Shirley makes it out, or at least makes it to the alarm. He hopes Jeff’s plan is going better than this. And while most of him is worried for the very real fate of the school, rather than his own fake demise, part of him is going to miss playing _Star Wars_. Abed’s never one to overdo an homage. Troy knows that once they die, Han dies with them.

“Before this is all over,” Troy starts, and Abed fixes his attention on him. “Is there anything else you wanted to do as Han?”

Abed looks thoughtful. “We hit a lot of the main bits,” he says.

“Oh. Okay.” Troy turns his gaze to the floor with an odd sense of disappointment. “Cool.”

Then Abed’s fingers tilt Troy’s chin up, Abed’s hand on Troy’s lower back pushes him closer, and he kisses him. Troy melts into it, wrapping his arms around Abed’s neck and letting him take the lead. He wonders if this is what he was asking for, as Abed draws a soft sound out of him with a swipe of his tongue along the roof of Troy’s mouth. Then he wonders why it still surprised him, if it was.

He can hear the alarms start ringing, faint behind the roaring in his ears. The first drops of paint start to fall but they’re still kissing. Abed makes a noise of frustration and crushes them together, biting down lightly on Troy’s lower lip. Troy’s stomach swoops and his mouth tastes like paint and he feels like he’s being boiled alive, like Abed’s hands are burning him where one squeezes his hip, where the other grips his jaw. He’s never been kissed like this, and he’s not sure if it’s how Han kisses or just how Abed kisses, but it consumes every one of his senses and he never wants it to end.

Which is why he doesn’t notice right away when it does, as soon as the sprinklers turn off. His paint-coated eyelids flutter open to see Abed’s now orange face staring back at him with wild eyes. Troy just looks at him, dazed and breathing heavily. He feels dizzy, like his brain is all staticky, and the roaring in his ears gets louder.

Abed blinks, face returning to neutral, and nods. “Cool,” he says, and the noise inside of Troy’s head goes suddenly quiet, as though it were never there.

Troy shakes himself a little and laughs, breathless, as they do their handshake.

**

Troy slides back into the corner of the booth, stretching his legs out on Abed’s lap as he sits down next to him and the rest of the group joins them. And by the rest of the group, Troy means the six of them, minus Pierce. He feels like shit after what Pierce said in the study room, and he’s really not looking forward to facing him when he gets home, but they’re at Denny’s to celebrate, so he pushes it to the back of his mind for now.

They stopped to clean up a little before they left Greendale. Troy and Abed went back to Abed’s dorm and did their best to rinse off in the showers, though there’s still flecks of paint here and there. He’s wearing Abed’s clothes- a pair of gym shorts and one of his larger t-shirts, some of the only things that fit. Annie tried washing her hair in a sink, but it’s still streaked with orange. Her clothing options were a bit more limited. She ended up in the same shorts and tights as before, but she’s wearing one of the spare button-downs Jeff keeps in the back of his car.

Annie and Jeff seem to have gotten over their rivalry. While they were all watching the end of the game on the green, Troy overheard him apologizing to her, something along the lines of needing to stop treating her like a kid and more like an equal. In any case, the tension’s gone, and thank God for that. There’s nothing worse than the two of them in a fight. The election they tried to hold earlier this year is proof enough.

Although they’re all varying degrees of disheveled, none of them look terribly out of place. The restaurant is mostly Greendale students at this point, and while the staff were initially bewildered by them, it’s probably the most business this Denny’s has seen in months, so they haven’t been kicked out yet.

Well, emphasis on the _yet_. Leonard appears to be getting into a bit of an argument with a waitress about his hash browns.

“What a way to end the year, huh guys?” Britta says. Everyone voices their agreement, but Jeff seems distracted.

“I’ll be right back,” he mutters, rising from his spot next to Annie at the edge of the booth and striding over to Leonard’s table. “Shut up, Leonard,” Troy can hear him say. “You may _look_ like a potato, but that doesn’t make you an expert in them.”

“I’m just glad we all pretty much made it to the end this time. It’s much more fun that way,” Annie says. Then, turning to Britta next to her, “It also means you and Jeff didn’t get a chance to defile the table again,” she jokes.

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Britta groans, and they all give her a questioning look. “Yeah, we stopped doing that after you all found out. I think the sneaking around was half the appeal.” Shirley pats her arm sympathetically, and Britta gives her a tight smile. “Really, it’s not a big deal. We’re both totally over it.”

“Oh,” Annie says, faintly. She glances at Jeff, who’s still screaming at Leonard, waving his hands around. “That’s good to hear.”

Jeff comes back to the table, muttering obscenities under his breath, just in time for their waitress to take their order. Troy and Abed can’t decide between sweet and savory, so they get fries and chocolate chip pancakes to share. When their food comes they try eating both at the same time, but no one else will give it a chance, no matter how much they try to convince them that it’s not that bad.

It’s comfortable, all of them joking around while they eat. They’re all tired from the game and in high spirits from both their victory and the end of the school year. That, along with the greasy diner food, makes them all a little warmer, softer, than they normally are, the fondness they all have for each other bleeding past the quips and bickering they so often deflect with.

Troy got whipped cream on his face at some point, and now Abed’s using the extra to paint a skull on Troy’s face with his fingertips. He shuts his eyes for a bit, trying and failing not to compare the featherlight touch Abed’s using now with the harsh grip he used on him earlier, when they kissed. It wasn’t really them, he has to remind himself. It was Han and Leia, and Han and Leia died when the sprinklers went off. It’s just him and Abed now.

Abed pulls away and Troy opens his eyes to see if he’s done. He’s not, he’s just contemplating his next move like he’s da Vinci and Troy’s an oil painting. Troy looks away from the intensity of his scrutiny and finds Shirley staring at them with a puzzled expression.

Shirley sighs, turning to Britta, who has a slight frown on her face as she watches Jeff and Annie playfully argue and bump shoulders. “Aw, hell,” Shirley says under her breath as she notices. “I need to start bringing Andre to these things.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one chapter was about as long as the first two combined, oof.
> 
> I've been excited to write this one because I adore the season 2 paintball episodes, and while the part of me that ships Annie/Abed loves their Han and Leia dynamic, I've always wondered what the episode would be like with Troy and Annie swapping roles. I also love Paradigms of Human Memory, and thought it would be the perfect place to slide in a few short and sweet Trobed scenes.
> 
> Fun fact, I have never been to a Denny's. I am of firm belief that it's a place I'll end up someday, through no will of my own, so I've never gone on purpose.
> 
> I've started a bit on the next chapter and it's looking like it'll be fairly long and might take me a bit longer to write, but hopefully it'll be worth it. It's going to be my self-indulgent tropey summer road trip chapter, so I hope you're all into that sort of thing!
> 
> Thank you all for the wonderful comments, I always smile so much when I read them. And thank you all so much for reading. Let me know what you think! :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For purposes of this fic I'm making Greendale a suburb of Denver, just FYI.

Summer sort of blows, Troy’s decided. When he was a kid he loved it, no school and plenty of time to play in the street with the other kids on his block. By the time he got to high school he still liked it, again for the no school, but he spent so much of his day training for the football season that he ended up with limited free time.

Now that he’s an adult, he’s mostly just bored. He kind of likes school, actually, and he’s gone from seeing all of his friends every day to only seeing most of them once every week or two. He goes to visit Shirley and her family on occasion, mostly to coo at baby Ben and eat a baked good. Jeff took him to a “real” bar once (Troy thinks he still feels bad about his birthday, though Jeff would never admit it) and bought him a fancy scotch, which Troy choked down and pretended to enjoy for the appearance of manliness and maturity. He only really meets up with Annie in cafes to help quiz her with flashcards for her summer classes, the two of them stopping to catch up on Annie’s scheduled study breaks. Britta isn’t around as much (she likes to spend her summers traveling to protests), but she asks Troy to watch her half-blind but fully aggressive cats a few times and he gets some new scars on his hands and arms to show for it. Abed’s working full-time at his father’s restaurant, and although they’re together practically every waking moment outside of that, it’s still less than they’re used to, and Troy spends most of the time Abed’s working playing video games in his room and moping. The study group even manages to align their schedules every once in a while to go out to dinner together. It almost feels the same— all of them laughing and bickering around a table— save for the fact that the table at the restaurant’s usually round instead of square, and they’re missing Pierce.

They don’t talk about him a lot, when they’re all together. Someone (usually Annie) will ask Troy how Pierce is doing at some point in the evening, to which he’ll reply with a shrug and something along the lines of “Fine, I guess.” He’s not just avoiding the question— he genuinely doesn’t know. Pierce’s mansion is big, big enough for two people to easily avoid each other. And on the occasions they do run into each other, the conversation is more awkward and stilted than it ever was, with them exchanging pleasantries and little else.

Jeff keeps telling them that they don’t need him, that he’s not their problem anymore. Annie usually smacks him and gives him a look when he says that, and it’s enough to get him to drop it. Troy’s heard them argue about it, though, as the two of them walk to Jeff’s car together at the end of the night.

It’s easy for Jeff to write it all off. He doesn’t have to live with the guy. When Troy does see Pierce, he twists up inside, knowing he’s living for free with a man he helped kick out of the group. It’s no small factor in why this summer sucks so bad.

He complains to Abed about it one day, while he visits him on shift at the restaurant. It’s a slow night, so Troy sits on the front counter while Abed reorganizes the cash register. They’re going to go see a movie once the restaurant closes in an hour, but Troy had nothing better to do in the meantime, so here he is.

“It’s just so _awkward_ , you know?” Troy complains, kicking his feet.

Abed pauses in counting the nickels. “I don’t really experience ‘awkward’ the same as you do, I think, but I can understand why the situation would make one feel that way, from an objective standpoint. Do you—”

“Abed?” Abed’s father opens the door from the kitchen, interrupting them. “Where did you put the— Oh. Hello, Troy,” he says after noticing Abed’s not alone.

Troy gives him a little wave. “Hi, Mr. Nadir.”

Abed’s dad flashes him a tight smile before turning back to his son. “Where did you put the box of chickpeas?”

“Pantry,” Abed says, not looking up from the wad of bills he’s sorting through. “Upper left corner.”

“Thank you. Good to see you, Troy.” Mr. Nadir says on his way out. Abed’s father may not be particularly warm, but Troy’s pretty sure he’s his favorite of Abed’s friends. (Which isn’t much of a competition, considering his history with Jeff, and Britta, and Shirley. But Troy’s still going to count it as a win.)

“Anyway,” Troy says, “It just sucks having to be in the same house as him, after everything that happened. It’s stressing me out.”

“I have a proposition, then. If you need a break,” Abed says, stuffing the cash back into the drawer and shutting it. He looks at Troy, leaning his elbows on the counter. “I got nominated for an award at this film festival in Portland in August, for that documentary I made about Pierce when he was fake-dying. My dad won’t give me much time off work and my film is slotted to play later on the last day, so I was only planning on going on Saturday, anyway. And they’re giving me a plus one, so: Road trip?”

“Oh, hell yeah!” Troy pumps his fist in the air. “Wait, you’re not just asking me ‘cause I have a car now, right?”

“If it was about the car, I would’ve asked Jeff. His is nicer,” Abed assures him. “Road trips are excellent opportunities for bonding, hijinks, self-discovery, and epiphanies. For those purposes, you’re the obvious choice.”

Troy grins at him. “This is gonna be so awesome,” he says, reaching out to do their handshake. Abed meets him halfway, face softening into a small smile.

**

Pierce is there, when Troy gets home that night. It’s not that Troy doesn’t expect him to be there (it is his house, after all) but he doesn’t expect him to be up so late, rattling around the liquor cabinet in the kitchen in his pajamas.

Troy takes a deep breath, steeling himself with a polite smile. “Hey, Pierce.”

The old man jumps, nearly dropping the bottle he’s holding. “Jesus—” He turns around. “Troy! When did you get here?”

“I just got in a minute ago,” Troy tells Pierce as he sets what Troy can now see is a bottle of bourbon on the counter. “What’re you doing up?”

Pierce takes a glass out and tips it at him. “Night cap.” Nodding, Troy crosses one arm in front of his body and holds on to his other elbow. He’s thinking of the best way to make his retreat when Pierce speaks again. “I’ve been participating in this personal improvement seminar at my Hive. The final phase starts next week. It’s a month-long retreat in Arizona, so I won’t be around for a while. Just so you know.”

Troy watches Pierce pop the cork off the bottle and pour some in his glass. “Oh,” he says, for lack of a better response. “That’s... I hope you have fun?” He tries.

Pierce laughs, takes a tiny sip of his drink. “It’s not so much about fun as it is about brutal honesty and self-reflection. God knows I need it,” he says, bitterly, leaning his arm on the island. Troy feels that familiar rush of pity, this time mixed with a hint of guilt.

“I don’t think you’re evil, Pierce,” Troy blurts out. Looking up at him, Pierce knits his brows together. “Not a lot of people are. Most are capable of good things _and_ bad things. You’ve done some messed up stuff, and you have some work you’ve gotta do on yourself, but I think everyone does, at least a little. And I... It’s good to know you’re trying.”

Pierce smiles at him, a little watery. The old man might be... Problematic, to say the least. But he has his moments, like when he saved the school, or offered his home to Troy. And they’ve all been treating him like a monster, like a two-dimensional villain, when he’s really just a person. “You’re a good kid, Troy,” Pierce says, wiping his eyes. Then, waving it away, asks, “How about you? Any big plans for the rest of the summer?”

“Not much, besides this film festival Abed’s documentary will be in. We’re gonna road trip there.”

“Oh.” Pierce pauses with his glass halfway to his mouth. “Are you... Is it, ah...” He makes some sort of vague gesture and Troy raises an eyebrow. Pierce sighs. “I saw the two of you, you know.” A chill runs down Troy’s spine, freezing him. “During the paintball game. I was running past the library window with the City College guys when the sprinklers went off.”

Drumming his fingers on the counter, Troy’s chest constricts. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, stiff.

“I haven’t told anyone else about it. Wasn’t planning to. Honest.” Pierce fixes him with a long look, searching, and Troy concentrates on keeping his face still. “Must’ve been someone else, then,” He says eventually.

Troy nods slowly. “Must’ve.”

Pierce swirls his bourbon around in the glass and takes a sip, making his way out of the kitchen. “Well, enjoy your trip, kid,” he says, starting up the stairs. Then he stops, looking back over his shoulder. “And Troy? Watch out for yourself, alright?”

**

The day Pierce leaves, Troy picks Abed up from work and takes him back to the mansion for road trip planning and a sleepover. None of the rest of the group has ever seen Pierce’s mansion and Troy’s never felt comfortable inviting any of them over when Pierce is around, so when he made the offer to Abed, Abed jumped on it.

They walk into the foyer and Abed drops his messenger bag by the door. Troy watches, amused, as Abed starts investigating every knickknack and piece of art. “It looks like the 1970s vomited in here. Do you think this is like a time capsule of the last time Pierce was cool?”

“Last time he was ‘hip and with it’, maybe,” Troy corrects.

Abed grins, kneeling down to look at a lava lamp. “Please tell me the rest of it is like this.”

“You haven’t even gotten the full tour yet,” Troy says, and Abed raises his eyebrows. “It gets way better. Or worse, depends on your perspective. Pierce sleeps on a waterbed.”

Abed’s eyes light up and he slings his bag back over his shoulder. “Okay, yes. Tour. Go.”

Troy leads them to Pierce’s bedroom, stopping often to answer questions or let Abed poke his head into other rooms along the way. Most are guest rooms, but there’s one door Abed opens that makes his eyes widen before he immediately shuts the door and keeps walking. Troy starts to ask him what he saw in there before Abed cuts him off with a question about some painting down the hall.

When they do get to Pierce’s room, Abed goes straight to the waterbed and lays down. “Huh,” he says.

Troy leans against the doorframe. “Weird, right?”

The bed jiggles as Abed moves around a bit. “At his age, I’m surprised he doesn’t have more back problems.” He sits up. “I really, really want to jump on it, but comedy custom dictates that if I do, it will pop, and we’ll spend the rest of the episode frantically trying to replace it. Which would be interesting in its own right, but we do have other plans, so...” With no small difficulty, Abed stands. “Your room?”

For as fascinated as Abed was with the rest of the house, he seems somehow more interested in Troy’s bedroom. He spends the first twenty minutes systematically looking over all of his trophies and posters and souvenirs. Not even asking about any of it, just studying them with an intensity he normally reserves for new TV shows. It makes Troy feel naked, but less in a without his clothes sort of way and more in a without his skin sort of way. He waits until it’s unbearable not to before asking Abed what he’s doing, to which Abed responds by telling him “Set design usually reflects character.”

Finally, though, Abed ends up sitting cross-legged on Troy’s bed, flipping a small notebook open to a blank page.

“Okay, so,” Abed starts, bouncing his knee. “We need to figure out routes and timing, of course, but we should get the most important thing out of the way first: What’s our genre?”

“What’re the options?” Troy asks as he sits down next to him.

“There’s buddy comedy, like _Planes, Trains and Automobiles._ Then there’s drama, like _Easy Rider_ or _Thelma and Louise_. And if we want the best of both worlds, we can go comedy-drama, like _Little Miss Sunshine_ , though we should probably save that for when the whole study group goes somewhere together. Or _Almost Famous_ , or—” Abed scrunches his face up. “Not _Rain Man_ , actually.”

“Maybe not straight-up drama? Might make things too heavy,” Troy suggests, and Abed writes something down.

“Good point. Comedy-drama would give us the most flexibility. Sound good?” Troy nods. “Cool. Cool cool cool. I don’t want to plan any specific homages or hijinks because we do better as a situational comedy, and I would rather they come up organically.” Drawing a line in his notebook, Abed says, “Now, boring stuff. It’s about twenty hours each way, so I think dividing it over two days sounds reasonable. We’ll have to stop at a motel. But in Portland they’ve put us up in an actual hotel for a night and I believe there will be a fancy cocktail party reception for the awards that evening, so bring something nice.”

“Motel to cocktail party, that’s a wide variety of situations to be comedic in.”

“I know. The possibilities are endless.” Spreading his hands in the air, Abed wiggles his fingers. “Since I’m navigating, I’ll print off maps. The only other things are snacks and music.”

“I can do snacks,” Troy offers. “And I have a couple of CDs in my car, but you should probably still be in charge of the music. You’re better at soundtracks.”

“I’m glad you said that, because I’ve already burned five mixes.” Abed shoots him a finger gun. “Now that that’s all sorted out, what do you want to do?”

Troy shrugs. “We could order a pizza. Oh, and I haven’t shown you the living room yet, but Pierce has this massive TV, and I don’t know if you brought any DVDs but—”

Abed reaches into his bag and pulls out his _Cougar Town_ box set. “I always come prepared. Lead the way.”

**

On the highway out of town, Abed pops the first CD in and “I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles)” begins to blast through the speakers.

Troy laughs. “Oh, hell yeah! Perfect road trip song.”

Abed says nothing in response but does join Troy in obnoxiously singing along. Troy’s thinking to himself that this is a good way to kick things off, but when the song ends it just starts playing over again.

“Abed, what—” There’s a bit of morning traffic, so Troy can only glance at him for a second. He catches a glimpse of Abed’s mouth, upturned at the corners. “Oh, fuck. _How I Met Your Mother_ , right?”

“I can turn it off, if you really want.” Abed sounds sad as he starts reaching for the eject button.

“No!” Troy shouts, grabbing Abed’s wrist to stop him. The sleeve of Abed’s hoodie got pushed back when he stretched his arm out, so Troy’s fingers are wrapped around bare skin, warm with a thrumming pulse beneath. He feels Abed’s eyes on him and lets go. “No, it’s a good reference. And I like this song, actually. Just, uh. How many times will...?”

“Fifteen,” Abed says. And oh, that’s actually less than Troy thought. No problem.

So he starts to sing again, to show Abed it’s okay, and he can see Abed relax out of the corner of his eye. By the time the CD ends, Troy’s actually kind of disappointed it’s over.

*

Troy hasn’t left the Denver area in long time. So he’s used to a little mountain driving, but the switchbacks they’re on right now have him white-knuckle gripping the steering wheel with his shoulders almost to his ears. Abed looks up from the screenplay he’s writing in his notebook and says, “You look tense.”

“Uh-huh,” Troy says, high and strained. He coughs. “It’s just, um...” He forgets to not look at the sheer drop next to him, separated by a metal railing. “A bit scary, to drive. Can’t... Talking is hard, right now.”

Abed closes his notebook, shuts off the music. “Do you want me to explain the plot of a movie to you?” He asks. “Nothing too funny, or sad. It would take your mind off of it.” Troy nods. “Cool,” Abed says, and launches into a thorough explanation of _Anastasia_ , hand-feeding Troy Twizzlers as he talks. Troy’s brain is still crying, but he feels his shoulders start to lower, millimeter by millimeter, as he focuses on the sound of Abed’s voice.

*

“Oh!” Troy shouts through a mouthful of fries. Abed jerks his head up from where it lolled against the seat during his post-burger doze, knocking his notebook to the ground in the process. “Shit, sorry.” Troy winces as Abed bends down to pick it up.

“No, I shouldn’t be sleeping. Bad road trip etiquette,” Abed assures him. “What is it?”

“I found Indiana,” Troy says, and Abed reaches for the pen in his shirt pocket. “Wait, semis count, right?”

Abed tilts his head, pausing with the pen above the paper. “I don’t see why not,” he says, scribbling something on the page. “The chances of us winning the license plate game are pretty low, anyway. Even including semis.”

“Well, with that attitude, yeah,” Troy scoffs, playful. “I wanna at least find Alaska, though.”

Abed smiles around the straw as he takes a sip of his mostly melted milkshake. “I’ll find it for you.”

(And, when they stop for gas somewhere in Utah, he actually _does_.)

**

It’s dark when Abed points out the flashing vacancy sign of a motel. They hadn’t planned ahead where they’d stop, but Troy started yawning about half an hour ago and Abed’s been keeping an eye out ever since.

After parking the car, they walk to the lobby. It’s dingy, but more because it’s old than gross. The teenage girl sitting at the front desk looks up from her magazine as they walk in, blowing and popping a blue gum bubble.

“Do you have any double rooms?” Troy asks.

Typing something into the computer, she shakes her head. “All I got is one king. That okay?”

“That’s fine,” Abed says, fishing around in his pockets. “How much?”

“Fifty for one night.” Abed exchanges a wad of bills for a key and the girl returns to her magazine. “Enjoy your stay.”

Troy goes to move the car closer while Abed takes the key (an actual, metal key, not one of those cards) to unlock their room. When he brings their bags in he finds Abed sitting on the bed, flipping through the TV guide.

“The channels are different here,” Abed informs him.

“I know.” Troy grins as he rifles through his duffle, searching for his toiletry bag. “It’s kinda like being in a...”

“Different timeline,” they say together.

“Exactly,” Abed says, looking at Troy strangely before shifting his focus back to the TV.

“I’m gonna take a shower.” Troy tugs off his shirt and grabs his pajamas. “We should probably get to sleep soon if we wanna hit the road by six.”

When Abed doesn’t reply, he turns to check on him, catching the movement of his head as he whips it away from Troy. “Sounds good.”

Hotel showers are always difficult to figure out, but this time Troy’s grateful for the extra five minutes it takes to get the water to be a temperature that’s anything other than freezing cold. It wouldn’t be right to say he wants space from Abed. It’s more that he can’t think, usually, unless he’s by himself, and apart from using the bathroom at rest stops he’s been with someone else all day. The frustrating part is that now, as he stands alone in the shower, watching the suds of shampoo wash down his shoulders and swirl around the drain, he can’t seem to make himself think about much of anything at all.

Eventually he runs out of time, or more accurately, hot water. He shivers as he steps out, scrubbing himself dry with the towel as fast as he can, rushing to get his pajamas on. That’s the other thing about hotels, aside from their confusing showers. They always run the AC at full blast, turning the room to an icebox even in August.

Abed’s catching the end of an episode of _Criminal Minds_ when he comes out. He puts a finger up, which means Troy shouldn’t interrupt unless it’s urgent. Troy sits on the edge of the bed next to him, rubbing a towel through his hair to try to get it at least mostly dry before he sleeps on it. He hasn’t seen this episode, so while he tries to follow the plot of the last five minutes, it still evades him.

Abed switches off the TV once the credits roll. “I’m going to go brush my teeth. You can turn the lights off,” he says.

The bathroom door shuts behind him and Troy flicks the light switch down, pulling back the covers on the side closest to the door. Given how tired he was towards the end of driving, he expects to be asleep before Abed gets in bed. Instead, he lies awake, eyes closed, ears tracking the sound of Abed moving around. By the time Abed lays down next to him, Troy feels like someone just spent the last few minutes rubbing a balloon on his head, leaving his skin prickling all over with static electricity.

He doesn’t understand why this feels so weird. He’s shared a bed with Abed before. He’s shared a _twin_ bed with Abed before. Once, he left a wet spot on Abed’s shirt from drooling on his chest. That should have been infinitely weirder than sleeping with two whole feet between them.

Maybe that’s what makes it so weird. That every time before this, they were forced to cram together, and that this time, it’s a choice.

Troy’s trying to imagine a flock of sheep so he can count them when Abed whispers, “Are you cold?”

“Yeah,” Troy whispers back, because it’s not a lie. “Do you wanna...?” He scoots closer instead of finishing the question.

“Yes,” Abed says, meeting him in the middle. He throws an arm over Troy’s waist and Troy grabs a fistful of his shirt, tilting his head down until his forehead is pressed to Abed’s chest. He can feel it when Abed exhales against his hair, the warmth of his breath melting the last of the tension out of Troy’s body. He doesn’t need the sheep after that.

*

When he wakes up the next morning, he first becomes aware of a persistent beeping, then of someone attempting to move his leg.

He groans and Abed shushes him. Rolling onto his back so Abed can extricate himself, he rubs the sleep out of his eyes as Abed stops the alarm.

“Time’s it?” He mumbles.

“Five. I need to shower.” Abed runs a hand over Troy’s hair before getting up. “Go back to sleep. I’ll come back with coffee.”

Troy sighs contentedly, nestling back into the covers, dozing off to the sound of the shower.

The next time Abed shakes him awake, he comes bearing gifts.

“You’re the best,” Troy half moans around a bite of doughnut.

Abed coughs, then takes a sip of hot chocolate. “You’re welcome.”

Downing the rest of his coffee, Troy goes to grab his clothes. “Your movie’s on at seven tonight, right?”

“Right,” Abed confirms.

“We should get going soon,” Troy says as he pulls on a fresh pair of jeans. “We gotta check into the hotel first, and there’s no way I’m gonna miss watching you on the big screen.”

“Okay,” Abed says, and watches Troy finish getting dressed, an extra softness in his gaze.

**

The hotel the festival people booked for them is way fancier than the motel. And there wasn’t even anything wrong with the motel, which just goes to show how _nice_ this place is. The only problem (which arguably shouldn’t feel like a problem) is the double beds that greet them as they open the door to drop off their bags.

Troy tries to keep from frowning as they make their way back to the car. He doesn’t do a very good job of it. If Abed notices, he doesn’t say anything.

They debate stopping for dinner, but Abed assumes there will be food at the festival, and neither of them want to risk being late. After getting their wristbands, they find somewhere with pizza not far from the entrance. Troy holds their place in line while Abed goes to check the schedule.

“Theater three, twenty minutes,” Abed informs him when he returns.

“Awesome,” Troy says, then, “Two slices of cheese,” because it’s his turn to order. They wander over to sit on a bench. Troy’s mouth is busy for a minute with eating pizza, but once he finishes he asks, “You excited?”

Abed drums his fingers on the bench between them as he watches the festivalgoers move around them. “Yes. Also somewhat nervous. I’ve never watched this many people react to something I’ve made at once before. And I mostly only showed this film to the study group, and your opinions are biased, since you’re in it.” He starts tapping his foot along with his fingers. “Logically I know not everyone will like it, and I can’t predict the audience’s response, but not knowing is... Hard.”

Troy grabs Abed’s hand and he stops fidgeting. “They nominated you for an award, dude. People already like it.”

Staring at their joined hands, Abed shakes his head. “Audiences and critics often disagree, though.”

“I don’t think they will this time.” When Abed still doesn’t seem convinced, Troy sighs. “We can stand in the back, if you want. That way we can slip out if you need to. Sound good?”

He squeezes Abed’s hand and Abed squeezes back. “Sounds good.”

Troy finds it’s just as weird now to watch himself have a breakdown on camera as it was the first time he saw it. It’s even more embarrassing to watch everyone else watch him, even though he’s in the back and he doesn’t think anyone knows he’s there. They laugh as he sob-sings the _Reading Rainbow_ theme. But not in a cruel way, which he’s choosing to look at as a positive.

The audience is mostly laughing, actually. And although it was somewhat hellish to live through, Troy can appreciate that objectively, the situation is pretty hilarious. Towards the end, they even start to “Aw” at some of the tender moments. Troy turns to Abed, who’s watching the audience rather than the screen. He supposes that makes sense, since Abed saw the movie a million times when editing it. It also falls in line with the way Abed is in general, to be one level removed from everyone else, to observe others observing.

Abed isn’t smiling, exactly, but there’s a certain warmth in his eyes that indicates this is the reception he hoped for. He thinks it might be pride that’s coloring Abed’s features, but then again, he could just as well be projecting his own feelings onto him.

The crowd applauds as the credits roll and Abed grabs Troy by the arm to pull him out of the theater before people start to leave. He drags him along until they’re far enough away that they’re unlikely to run into anyone else who just got out of the movie. Abed’s features remain as neutral as ever as they walk, but he very nearly has a bounce in his step, and the energy pouring off him is infectious.

“That was so cool!” Troy says, giddy, as they stop around a corner.

“Yes. Cool. Cool cool cool.” A grin breaks across Abed’s face. “They liked it.”

“They _loved_ it,” Troy gushes, and Abed’s grin gets almost scary-wide. “Because you, my man, are _awesome_.”

Abed reaches a hand out and falters, as though he’s unsure what he intended to do with it. He settles on patting Troy twice on the cheek before spinning on his heel and heading back the direction they came. Troy stares after him for a second, mouth open, before rushing to catch up.

**

They stay to watch a few more films before returning to the hotel to get ready for the awards ceremony. Because Troy doesn’t need to do anything to his hair, he lets Abed get ready in the bathroom while he changes in the main room. He doesn’t own many fancy clothes, so he’s wearing his _Troy and Abed in the Morning_ outfit with nicer pants and shoes, which he figures is good enough. It doesn’t take long until he’s finished. He passes some time flipping through channels on the TV, trying to focus on the local news station. His eyes, however, keep darting over to the bathroom with increasing frequency. When his restlessness finally overrides his patience, he gets up.

He knocks. “Abed? Almost ready?” The door swings open. Walking through it, he freezes.

Abed’s father was excited, apparently, when Abed showed interest in what he called “professional adult” clothes. He paid to get the dark blue suit Abed’s wearing tailored, and boy, was it worth it, for the way it enhances the long lines of his body, the way it broadens the flat planes of his chest. Abed even gelled his hair. Not too much, enough that it’s still classy. His hair tends to fall in soft waves as it grows, and it’s been a while since he cut it. One curl falls on his forehead, debonair. He looks like he stumbled off the set of a Bond film. Troy feels under-dressed.

Staring blankly at his own reflection, Abed attempts to tie his bow tie. He finally notices Troy standing in the doorway and holds the scrap of burgundy fabric out to him wordlessly. Taking it, Troy loops it under Abed’s collar and starts to tie it. As he works, he glances up at Abed, who is looking at some point past him.

“Why didn’t you bring a clip-on?” Troy asks, straightening the bow and stepping back.

Abed’s eyes focus on him. “Not fancy enough.”

Troy takes in Abed’s dilated pupils, the rapid rise and fall of his chest. “What’s wrong?”

“A big part of these things is networking,” Abed explains. “I’m not good at it. They’re going to think I’m weird.”

“Aren’t all directors supposed to be eccentric?”

Shaking his head, Abed fiddles with his cuff links. “Not like how I am.”

Troy thinks, then rests a hand on Abed’s shoulder. “What if you just played a character? Like, act like how directors act in movies, or something.”

Abed’s posture shifts and he flashes a grin like they’re on _Troy and Abed in the Morning_. “Mr. Barnes! So good to meet you. I’m such a fan of your work,” he says, then back to monotone, “Like that?”

“Yeah, exactly!” Abed looks less like he’s spiraling, but he still has a tiny crease between his brows. “You don’t have to do that, though,” Troy says. “They’d like regular you just as much.”

“No, this makes it easier. Thanks.”

Sliding his hand off Abed’s shoulder and down his arm, Troy takes Abed’s hand in his own and squeezes it. “Let me know if you wanna ditch early, okay? I can fake food poisoning.”

Abed gives him a close-mouthed smile and pulls him to the door. “Let’s go.”

*

Signs in the hotel lobby lead them to a large conference room. Troy sneaks a glance inside as Abed checks in at the table next to the door. He can see a bar off to the side, several high tables for people to stand around, and a stage to the back. Soft instrumental music accompanies the hum of chatter as elegantly dressed people mill about. Abed takes his hand again, now sporting a name tag sticker on his lapel, and they walk into the room.

At the bar, Abed orders a 7 and 7 for Troy and a beer for himself, leaning next to Troy as he takes in the room and sips his drink. To the average passerby, Abed would appear completely calm. But the way he keeps tapping his fingers against his bottle, the fact that he ordered a drink in the first place, and the way he keeps a tight grip on Troy’s hand all give away his nerves.

After a few minutes, a man and woman approach them. “Mr. Nadir?” The man asks, shaking Abed’s hand. Abed nods. “Brain Grayson, I run the festival. It’s wonderful to meet you! My wife, Michelle, and I loved your film.”

“Thank you, Mr. Grayson. I’m so glad you enjoyed it,” Abed replies, suave in a way that only seems unnatural to Troy.

“And this must be Troy Barnes! From the documentary,” Michelle gasps. “I didn’t realize the two of you were partners as well.”

“We’ve worked on a lot of stuff together, yeah,” Troy says, finishing his drink.

“I was in a lot of Brian’s movies when we first started dating, too,” Michele says knowingly. Troy thinks _oh_ , and opens his mouth to correct her, but Abed wraps an arm around his waist before he can.

“Troy has always been very supportive of my work,” Abed says, grinning. “Isn’t that right, dear?”

Troy blinks at him but makes a swift recovery. “How could I not be, honey?” He says through gritted teeth. “You’re a genius!”

“Flatterer,” Abed says, lowly, grabbing Troy’s hip. The drink must be hitting him. Either that or the AC’s failing.

Michelle claps her hands together. “Oh! You two are adorable. Aren’t they, Brian?”

“Reminds me of us in college,” Brian says, kissing his wife on the cheek. “Why don’t I introduce you to some people? I think I see Angela over there...”

It becomes increasingly clear, as Brian drags them around to meet the other filmmakers, that almost no one thinks Abed made a real documentary. Everyone praises Troy for his acting skill and asks him what it was like to work with LeVar Burton. He doesn’t have the heart to tell them that they’ve already seen what it was like for him to “work with” LeVar on screen, so he makes up something about him being even more lovely in person. He overhears someone ask Abed where he gets his inspiration from, only for them to laugh when Abed confusedly replies “I suppose real life is my inspiration.” Abed seems to pick up on it after that and starts telling grand tales about how many takes it took to get the fight scene between Jeff and Pierce just right.

People also keep coming to the same conclusion as Brian and Michelle, all of them cooing over how adorable Troy and Abed are together. Some ask how the two of them met and, curiously enough, Abed doesn’t really lie about that. He tells them they met in a study group their first year of college and became friends. The only part that isn’t true is when Abed describes how the two of them gradually fell in love, but even then it seems so realistic, so plausible, that it feels like it could just as easily be not a lie. Troy gradually gets more comfortable with the charade as the night goes on, returning Abed’s casual touches and affectionate nicknames with ease.

When the awards ceremony starts, they stand towards the front of the crowd, Troy tucked under Abed’s arm. They listen and clap politely at the first few awards given away. Then Brian says, “Now, it was difficult to put the next entry into a category. Ostensibly, it’s a documentary. But it’s also so much more than that. It’s both a drama and a comedy, a study in individual characters as well as group dynamics, a story as much about the randomness and futility of life as it is about hope and meaning. The one thing the committee could immediately agree on, however, is how much this film both challenged and touched us all. I am proud to present this year’s award for best short film to Abed Nadir, for _Intermediate Documentary Filmmaking_.”

The audience applauds and Abed looks up in surprise. Without thinking, Troy laughs, gives Abed a kiss on the cheek, and Abed turns to him, eyes widening further. Troy laughs again, nervously this time, and pushes Abed towards where Brian is waiting.

“You’re really lucky,” the woman standing next to him says as Abed makes his way to the stage. “Your boyfriend is almost as handsome as he is talented.”

Troy ducks his head. Abed takes the trophy and microphone from Brian, giving the audience a dazzling smile. “Thank you all so much for this. It’s truly an honor,” Abed says, voice echoing over the microphone. “I would also like to thank my partner, Troy, for always being there to support me. And for being here with me tonight.” Troy’s insides go all fizzy as he sighs in tandem with the woman next to him.

With another round of applause, Abed returns to his spot next to Troy and, setting his trophy on their table, pulls him in for a quick hug.

“Congrats!” Troy whispers as Brian moves on to the next category. Abed says nothing, just threading their fingers together and turning his attention back to the stage. But, as they watch the rest of the ceremony, Troy can almost feel the happiness radiating off of him.

*

They stumble back to their room shortly after midnight. Brian and Michelle coerced them into staying for a few more drinks after the ceremony wrapped up, but they eventually made their excuses, telling them they had a long drive ahead of them. Brian gave Abed his card before they left, saying he should call him if he ever needed funding for another project. Abed graciously accepted, but the moment they got on the elevator Abed said “cool” at least seven times as he stared at the card.

The energy seeps out of them now, as Troy works on taking off Abed’s bow tie and Abed removes his cuff links. Abed shrugs off his jacket and yawns, wandering to go brush his teeth while Troy changes into his pajamas.

Troy hears the sink run before Abed steps out of the bathroom. He’s in just his undershirt and boxers, and Troy’s stomach lurches as Abed stretches his arms over his head, exposing the sharp point of his hipbone.

“Your turn,” Abed says. Troy quickly brushes past and shuts the bathroom door behind him, splashing some water on his now burning face. His reflection looks too keyed-up. He can see too much of the whites of his eyes. Gripping the edge of the counter, Troy leans over the sink and takes some deep breaths before grabbing his toothpaste.

When he finishes, Abed is already laying down, his breathing even. Troy tiptoes to his own bed, settling beneath the covers.

“Hey, Troy?” Abed mumbles sleepily from across the room.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you. For coming with me,” he says. “Good night.”

Troy listens to Abed roll over. “Night, Abed,” he replies, absently. He lays on his back, stares at the red blinking light of the smoke detector. He feels strangely lonely, the space between them seeming to stretch into a yawning canyon. It takes him a long time to fall asleep.

**

They stop at the same motel on the way back, for symmetry. The same girl is sitting at the desk, chewing pink gum now and reading a different magazine, to show that time has passed. She barely looks up as they approach the desk, not seeming to recognize them.

“What do you have available?” Abed asks.

The girl checks the computer, then says, “I’ve got a few doubles, and a king.”

Troy’s trying not to feel disappointed when Abed asks, “Which is cheaper?”

“King’s cheaper,” she says, pointing to the board behind her where prices are listed.

“We’ll take it,” Abed says. Troy turns to leaf through the brochures to hide his smile as Abed completes the transaction.

Their room is on the other end this time, next to a pool Troy somehow missed when they first stayed here. Abed stares at it intently as Troy unlocks the door.

Troy’s only just set his bag down on the chair in their room when Abed says, “We should go swimming.”

“But I didn’t bring any trunks.” He looks at Abed, who’s leaning on the edge of the bed, one leg crossed over the other.

“We can go in our underwear.” Abed shrugs. “No one else is out there.”

“We—” Troy laughs, a little crazed. “Yeah, what the hell? Why not?”

“Cool. Cool cool cool.” Hopping up, Abed makes his way to the door. “Come on.”

For a mostly full motel in late summer, the pool area is strangely empty. Only the sounds of lapping water and the bubbling filter fill the night air. The pool lights get distorted by the water’s surface, the blue glow they cast shifting and rippling across Abed’s body as he starts to pull off his shirt. It’s the sort of scene, the sort of lighting and composition Abed would normally point a camera at, and Troy feels a pulling at his sternum, being the one to stand there and watch it instead.

Spinning around, Troy faces away as undresses. He waits until he hears the splash of Abed jumping in the pool before he dares to turn back. Abed’s gaze shifts up to meet Troy’s eyes and Troy just looks at him for a moment, taking in the stands of wet hair now plastered to Abed’s forehead, the rivulets of water running down his bare shoulders. Then Abed jerks his head in invitation and Troy takes a running leap in after him.

They spend some time swimming around, splashing at each other, occasionally dunking each other under. Troy thrills at that, the slide of Abed’s warm skin against his own, in sharp contrast to the cool water. Eventually they get tired, opting to tread water in the middle of the pool while they catch their breath. They stare at each other without speaking for long enough that it should be creepy. Instead it just feels peaceful.

Breaking the silence, Troy asks, “What’re you thinking about?”

“Movies with pool scenes,” Abed says. “I can’t think of any that are also about road trips, but... Have you seen Baz Luhrmann’s _Romeo and Juliet_?”

Troy wonders if the water moves around the pounding of his heart. “Yeah.”

Abed cocks his head to the side. “Do you trust me?” He asks. Biting the inside of his cheek, Troy nods. “Hold your breath,” Abed tells him, and as soon as he does Abed sinks below the water, pulling Troy with him.

Troy remembers the day one of his cousins told him he wasn’t really hearing the ocean in a seashell, just the rush of his own blood. He thinks about that as he keeps his eyes shut tight, feeling Abed’s hand make its way up his arm to hold his face, brushing Troy’s lip with his thumb. He keeps thinking about it as Abed’s nose knocks gently into his own, until he adjusts the angle and slots their mouths together, and Troy hears waves crash in his head while he represses the urge to gasp.

It isn’t long before they surface. Troy expects Abed to stop kissing him as soon as they do, the magic of the moment breaking once they leave a particular context, like when the sprinklers stopped raining down paint on them. To his surprise, Abed only kicks them over to the pool wall, resting an elbow on the edge while he crushes Troy against it. Troy grabs onto Abed’s shoulders to hold himself up, trying to remember if this happened in the movie. But then his brain short-circuits as Abed licks into his mouth, tasting of chlorine.

This is different than how Han kissed. Han was slow, methodical. He kissed with a practiced confidence. Troy still can’t tell if this is Abed, but based on pattern alone he’s leaning towards it being more Romeo than anyone else. Although he would hesitate to call this kiss sloppy, since there’s still a sort of polish to it, Abed’s lips wander almost as much as his hands, breaking away often to plant open mouthed kisses down Troy’s neck, to nip at his earlobe.

Arching into it, Troy watches Abed with lidded eyes as he scrapes his teeth against Troy’s collarbone. Abed looks up at him through his lashes, pulls back enough for Troy to see his mouth, wet with pool water and swollen from kissing. The image is almost too much, burning itself into Troy’s retinas even as he squeezes his eyes shut again. Abed presses a kiss to the corner of Troy’s mouth once, twice more, before pushing away.

Troy feels as pinned to the wall by Abed’s gaze as he did by his body. Abed looks through him while they catch their breath, then blinks rapidly before saying, “We should probably dry off soon,” with a bit of a rasp in his voice.

Troy just nods, not trusting himself to speak. He hopes he doesn’t look as ravaged as he feels as he makes his way over to the ladder.

They sit on the edge of the pool once they get out, feet dangling in the water. Abed rubs a towel through his hair before draping it over his shoulders. Troy kicks his legs, watching the waves he makes intersect and swirl around the ones coming from the filter. His whole body still feels like a live wire, sparks shocking down his arm where it touches Abed’s.

“We should move in together,” Abed says. Troy whips his head around.

“What about jumping the shark?” Troy asks. Not because he doesn’t want to, but because he needs Abed to be _sure_.

“I think we’re already past the shark,” Abed says, holding onto the corner of his towel. “We just spent the entirety of the last several days together and didn’t fight even once. I’m not sick of you, and you haven’t done anything to indicate you’re sick of me...”

“I’d never get sick of you,” Troy interrupts, surprising himself with how much he means it. Abed smiles.

“The big epiphany of this road trip, I think, is that we’re no longer in danger of jumping the shark. And the prize money from the festival would probably cover a security deposit, so we can start looking for a place once we get back.” Pausing, Abed quirks a brow. “That is, if you still want to move in with me. I just realized you never actually said yes.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Abed seems like he’s still waiting for something, and Troy realizes he’s just been sitting there, grinning like an idiot. “Yes, of course I wanna live with you, dude.” Troy claps him on the shoulder and Abed stands, pulling Troy up after him.

There’s no hesitation this time, when they get into bed, before they wrap around each other. Troy buries his face in Abed’s neck and Abed hooks a leg over Troy’s waist and something more intangible slots into place between them, something Troy doesn’t really want to think about, or examine too closely. He’s still busy not thinking about it when his eyes slip closed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy this got long.
> 
> It took me some fiddling to try to get this right, and although I'm still not completely happy with it, I figure it's better to get it out there than to sit here micro-editing it until it's perfect. I had fun with this one, though! I got to put it some of my favorite fanfic tropes: Oh no there's only one bed AND a little fake-dating. (As a side note, I don't know if I'm breaking the slow burn mold by having them make out so much, but I still think it's kind of slow burn since they're gonna stay ignorant of why they keep wanting to make out for a long time lol)
> 
> I know people generally hate Pierce, and I also kind of hate him as he is in canon, but since this is a fix-it of sorts I wanted to try to do his character some justice. Almost everyone has those problematic older relatives, and you put up with them because they're family, even though you know they're set in their ways. But Community as a show is so much about flawed people growing and changing together that I think Pierce deserves the chance to grow and change, too. It's not excusing his behavior, but I'm gonna give him a redemption arc.
> 
> Finally, I messed around some more with the outline and combined some chapters, so I feel more confident putting the chapter count at 13 now. Expect the chapter length to continue to vary wildly, though.
> 
> As always, thank you all so much for reading and commenting! I love reading all of your feedback. :) Let me know what you think of this chapter!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’re interested in the playlist I listen to when I write this fic, you can find that [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2NCPlUeNDgmsk6Ha2C2duw?si=JULRJedgSnSRuQwOEF1UXw)

“We could probably afford a two bedroom,” Abed says as he pours over his newspaper.

With Pierce still in Arizona, Troy invited Abed over to the mansion to start the apartment hunt. Troy’s dad told him he should just call a realtor, but realtors are _money_ , so they’re trying their luck on their own, first. They stopped at a grocery store on the way over, buying one of every newspaper they sold, as well as a giant bag of Skittles they’re currently working their way through. They’ve been looking through the apartment ads for about twenty minutes now, sitting on Troy’s bed, with Troy leaning against his pillows while Abed lays on his stomach next to him.

“Oh.” Troy pulls his paper up higher, covering the frown on his face. “Cool.”

“And if we have an extra bedroom, there’s an idea I’ve had for a while now.”

Troy doubts he’s ever had a frown that so instantaneously turned upside down. “Yeah? What is it?”

Folding his paper, Abed pushes himself up to sit. Troy sets his own newspaper down, to show he’s paying attention. “The Dreamatorium,” Abed says, making a wide, sweeping gesture with his hands. “A space reserved for simulated adventures. You and I could be anyone, anywhere. The possibilities: Endless. The only limit: Our imaginations.”

“Awesome,” Troy breathes. “So, like a special place for homages?”

“Not just homages,” Abed corrects. “Perfect recreations. Completely new scenarios. We could even simulate members of the study group.”

“Oh, man. I am _so_ in, dude.” They do their handshake and Abed smiles, settling back down and returning to circling listings in the paper.

“Cool. Cool cool cool.”

*

They end up finding a place without a realtor. It’s not amazing. A little dingy, in fact, and the landlord gives Troy a weird vibe, but it has two bedrooms and it’s a bit under their budget, so he can’t complain.

Pierce comes home right around the time Troy starts packing. He expects the old man to be angry when he tells him he’s leaving, but Pierce just pats him on the back and congratulates him on becoming a man and making his own way in the world. It catches Troy so off-guard that he nearly forgets to thank him.

In general, Pierce is far more genial. Abed suggests his cult replaced him with a pod person, when Troy texts him about it, but that doesn’t seem right. It’s not like he’s unrecognizable. He still does stupid things and makes somewhat questionable jokes, but it’s without any malice behind it. He also does things like take a genuine interest in Troy’s life and offer to buy him pizza the night before Troy leaves. So it’s like Pierce 2.0: More evolved, with less insecurity and more empathy. The study group can say what they will about Pierce’s cult, but that retreat worked wonders.

Pierce tells him about it, over the pizza. It kind of sounds like a mix of therapy and rehab and something Troy’s heard referred to as “glamping”.

“Well,” Pierce says as their conversation winds down, “I just wanted to say that I really am sorry for my behavior last year. I should have been a better friend, and a better roommate.” Pierce’s face screws up a little as he says it, as though his mouth isn’t used to the shape of an apology, but he seems sincere.

Troy pats him on the shoulder. “Apology accepted, man. But you were a fine roommate. That’s not the reason I’m moving out, you know?”

“I know.” Closing the pizza box, Pierce puts the leftovers in the fridge. “As much as I’m going to miss having you around, I get it. You and Abed have just progressed to that stage of your relationship.”

“We have gotten a lot closer as friends over the past year, yeah,” Troy muses.

“Right,” Pierce chuckles. “Anyway, I have a little something for you. As a parting gift.” He hands him an envelope; which Troy opens to reveal an IKEA gift card. “I was going to get you something there, but I don’t know what you have already, so you can use that to get what you need.”

“Wow,” Troy says, grinning. “This is great. Thanks, Pierce.”

“It’s nothing.” Pierce waves him off, making his way to the stairs. “Night, Troy. I’ll see you around.”

*

After dropping their stuff off at the new place, Troy and Abed drive to IKEA. Troy feels extra grateful for the gift card now, since the two of them looked around the nearly empty apartment and realized that they have almost none of the furniture they need. He probably could’ve convinced his dad to let him take the twin bed from his childhood bedroom, but he’s glad to be spared the lecture he would surely receive about poor planning.

“Man, I haven’t been here since I was a kid,” Troy says as he switches off the engine.

“I’ve never been here,” Abed says, unbuckling himself and following Troy out of the car.

“Dude, seriously?” Grabbing Abed by the upper arm, Troy practically drags him to the entrance. “You’re gonna love it. The place is like a wonderland of home goods. They even have a cafeteria!”

Abed looks around in wonder as they walk in, then makes meaningful eye contact with Troy. “Troy and Abed at IKEA,” they sing together, doing their handshake.

Since having a place to sleep that night seems like a priority, they decide to start with the beds. They get distracted by the showrooms on the way, though, because they keep wanting to pretend to be the people that would live there. The last one they stop at is a living room set up, where Abed sits on the couch as a wife waiting for her cheating husband (Troy) to come home. The dramatic fight they have when Troy walks through the pretend door draws enough unwelcomed attention from other customers that they decide to make a swift but casual break for it.

They find themselves now surrounded by rows and rows of bedframes. Stopping in front of a wooden full-size, Abed starts to inspect it.

“We can probably only fit two twins in that room, right?” Troy asks.

Abed steps away. “Right.” He looks around the floor, eyes widening as he points across the room. “What about that?”

Troy gasps. “Bunk bed!” He shouts, following Abed over to get a better look. “Just like your dorm! We gotta get this, dude. How much?”

Checking the price tag, Abed scrunches up his nose. “One hundred and forty-nine dollars and ninety-nine cents. How much is on the gift card?”

“I don’t know, actually,” Troy admits. “How would we find out?”

They decide the easiest way would be to just buy something with it and ask for the remaining balance. Since the cafeteria is close by, they pick up a chocolate chip cookie to split.

After the cashier rings them up, Troy asks, “How much is left on the card?”

The cashier does a double take and says, “One thousand, nine hundred and ninety-eight dollars.”

Troy tries to pretend like this isn’t news to him, but he’s pretty sure his eyebrows have merged with his hairline. He and Abed sit at a table and eat the cookie in stunned silence.

“We could buy 13 bunk beds,” Abed says, after they finish. “Not that we should. We still need chairs, and plates, and...” He pulls the list they made before they left from his pocket. “A lot of other things, all of which we likely would have been unable to afford before.”

“You know, if you tried to tell me six months ago that I’d be saying this I would’ve laughed in your face, but: Thank God for Pierce.” Troy looks down at the gift card again, shaking his head.

“Truly,” Abed agrees. “Now, let’s go look at tables.”

*

After loading the small things— like plates and lamps and four boxes of frozen Swedish meatballs for Troy— into the back of the car, they return to the warehouse floor to get the larger furniture boxes. Abed wrote the information from the tags upstairs on the back of their original list, so Troy grabs a cart as Abed tries to figure out where to go first. Abed begins to lead Troy to the left before getting a proper look at the cart, but when he does he quirks an eyebrow at Troy, and it’s one of those moments where neither of them has to say anything, they just _know_.

Ducking down the first empty aisle he sees, Troy climbs on behind Abed and as they both sit on the flat base of the cart and push forward using their legs, reminiscent of a Little Tikes car. Abed puts a foot down as they near the end of the aisle, spinning them to a stop just before they crash into a kid walking next to his mom. The woman doesn’t notice them at first, too preoccupied with finding the box she’s looking for, but then the kid tugs on her sleeve, pointing at Troy and Abed. They’re both standing, leaning casually against the cart and trying not to appear out of breath, by the time she turns around.

Troy flashes a smile, waving at them, as Abed gives a two-fingered salute. She looks at them strangely, steering her son away from them and down another aisle.

Troy laughs, so hard he has to hold onto Abed for support. To his surprise, Abed joins him, with the kind of loud, startled chuckle he normally reserves for when they’re not in public. Abed puts an arm around Troy’s waist to steady him as Troy practically drapes himself over Abed’s side, wiping his eyes.

“Want me to push you next?” Abed asks, smiling at Troy warmly as he collects himself.

“ _Yes_.”

*

With the warehouse shenanigans as a distraction, they don’t manage to get out of there until dinnertime. There’s no way Troy could fit all of the furniture they bought in the back of his car, so they prioritized the bunk bed and arranged for the rest to be delivered the next morning.

They stop at a drive-thru on the way home. It fills Troy with the warm and fuzzies, while he scarfs down a burger and Abed happily munches on some chicken fingers, to think about that word. _Home_. It’s partially that he finally has a place that’s his. At his dad’s, or Pierce’s, he felt like a kid, or a guest, rather than a real adult. But it’s also that the apartment is his _and_ Abed’s, that it’s _theirs_ , and they get to live in it together. It’s a similar rush to getting pushed around IKEA on a cart, but about ten times better.

When they get back, they start getting set up in their bedroom. “Remember how you’re good at plumbing?” Abed asks as he opens the boxes and Troy gets out his toolbox.

Troy snorts. “I’m alright at it. Why?”

“Do you think that skill is applicable to IKEA bed building?”

Taking a moment to consider it, Troy helps Abed sort out screws. “I dunno. Maybe? It might be sink-specific.”

Abed picks up the instruction manual and, after flipping some pages, asks, “What do you guess the first step is?”

“Start with the end pieces, attach the horizontal ones to the long one here, using...” He grabs two bags of screws. “These and these?”

Abed looks up at him in alarm. “Correct.”

Shifting uncomfortably, Troy mutters, “Okay, maybe more than just sinks.”

He does indulge Abed, though, by telling him, every time, what he thinks the next step is before Abed confirms with the manual. He’s always right.

Around eleven, they have a completed bed, all done up with sheets and everything. They’re yawning by the time they finish, so they decide to turn in early. Changing into their blanket fort pajamas, they brush their teeth side by side, making such silly faces at each other in the mirror that Troy nearly chokes on his toothpaste.

Back in their bedroom, Abed asks, “Do you want top or bottom bunk?”

“Top.”

“Me too,” Abed says, and launches himself up the ladder and onto the bed before Troy can react.

“Hey, no fair! You were closer!” Troy complains.

Abed smirks. “What are you going to do about it?”

Narrowing his eyes, Troy scampers up after him, climbing on top of Abed and pinching that spot below his ribs that Troy’s pretty sure only he knows is ticklish. “Take that!” Troy shouts as Abed curls in on himself.

Then Abed gets a glint in his eye, and the next thing Troy knows their positions are reversed, with Abed on top of him, tickling Troy’s neck and stomach.

Giggling, with tears in his eyes, Troy braces his hands against Abed’s shoulders. He tries to push him back, but Abed simply peels Troy’s hands off him and pins him to the mattress by his wrists. He takes deep, gasping breaths to calm himself, now without the threat of Abed’s wandering hands. Abed just looks at him, while he straddles him and holds him down, and keeps looking at him, a crease forming between his brows. Troy twists, experimental, but Abed’s grip on him only tightens, his hips grinding against Troy’s as he squeezes him with his thighs and— Okay, this situation is going to get uncomfortable if it goes on much longer.

Thankfully, Abed releases him after a few more seconds, sitting back on his heels as Troy props himself up.

“Call it a draw?” Abed suggests.

They shake on it, then squeeze in beside each other. It’s cramped, and Troy ends up half on top of Abed, laying his head on his chest. It makes for a somewhat bony pillow, but he finds he doesn’t mind all that much.

*

Troy wakes up the next morning to Abed’s arm around his waist, holding him back from rolling off and falling on the floor.

As Troy settles back over him, Abed sleepily mumbles, “Let’s use the bottom bunk from now on.”

**

They manage to get the apartment mostly set up before school starts. All the furniture is put together and most of the decorations are up. It’s starting to look a little bit too much like one of the IKEA showrooms, though, so Abed suggests looking around some thrift stores to get more unique stuff. The first one they go to has an excellent used book section, which they spend a lot of time picking through. They find one on party hosting for only fifty cents that they pick up in preparation for the housewarming they’re planning. The book is really old and also super racist, but does have an interesting section on toilet olives, so they buy a fancy glass bowl from the next thrift store they go to.

The only thing left to set up, once classes start, is the Dreamatorium. They spend every evening for a week working on it. Abed’s in charge of the machinery in the closet and Troy is tasked with setting up the tape grid on the walls. It’s tedious, having to measure and mark off the walls with pencil so the lines are evenly spaced. But it looks cool enough when it’s finished that all the work is worth it.

One of the first simulations they run in there is based off of Abed’s new favorite show, _Inspector Spacetime_. Abed points out, when they’re watching it, how much they resemble Reggie and the Inspector. And after another trip to the thrift store and some arts and crafts time, they have two fairly serviceable costumes.

“Cool,” Abed says once they’re both dressed and in the Dreamatorium. “Cool cool cool. We should start stockpiling props and costumes.”

“Wanna raid the theater department?” Troy suggests.

Abed nods, getting a look in his eye like he’s already planning an _Ocean’s Eleven_ homage. “Definitely. But one thing at a time.”

“Right,” Troy says. “How does this work, anyway?”

“The engine is all calibrated, so I should just be able to say: Render environment, X7 Dimensioniser.”

Maybe it takes a little longer, since the Dreamatorium isn’t calibrated to Troy’s brain, but a few minutes into the simulation the walls start to shimmer and warp, and Troy begins to see the world as Abed’s made it. Sometimes, if he squints, he can make out the orange grid on the walls beneath it all, but for the most part he’s so lost in the illusion that Abed has to keep reminding him to run in place. He didn’t expect it to work so well. But then again, in _Peter Pan_ magic runs on belief, and Abed’s always been a bit of a wizard, and Troy’s never believed in anyone more. So he decides not to question it.

When Troy’s stomach growls, Abed says, “Stop simulation,” and the alien landscape around them fades back to a converted bedroom.

“What time is it?” Troy asks, stretching.

“Seven thirty,” Abed informs him after checking his phone. “We forgot about dinner.”

“We were in there for three hours? Man, I completely lost track.”

They walk out into the common space and Abed removes his bowler hat, setting it on the table. “Did you like it?” Abed asks, fidgeting with the tie on his robe.

Troy grins. “Yeah, dude. That was so awesome. We gotta try some other stuff in there, like you know how you have that Batman costume? Well, I have Spiderman pajamas and—” He’s cut off by another complaint from his stomach. “Actually, let’s talk about it over dinner. Buttered noodles?”

Nodding, the corners of Abed’s mouth turn up. He follows Troy into the kitchen, sitting on the counter while he starts a pot of water boiling.

“So, anyway, I was thinking Spiderman and Batman could...”

**

When Pierce makes his return to the study group on the first day of classes, he has apology speeches for each of them. It’s reminiscent of that time that Britta asked Paige to the dance and he read his “congrats on being a lesbian” speech, except these speeches are a lot less offensive while still retaining the touching and supportive aspects.

Everyone forgives him but Jeff, who calls bullshit on the whole thing and storms out of the study room. But after he gets monkey-gassed and tries to destroy the table with an ax, he seems a bit more understanding of Pierce’s shortcomings.

By the time Troy and Abed’s housewarming rolls around, everything is pretty much settled and back to normal. And it seems like the hosting book payed off. Everyone’s having a great time, especially once they all start dancing to “Roxanne”, but then Troy hears Abed invite Annie to live with them.

He doesn’t say anything in the moment because the hosting book said it was rude to discuss private affairs in front of guests. He does, however, try to make meaningful eye contact with Abed, before remembering that whatever he’s communicating with his face probably isn’t all that meaningful to Abed.

He wonders if maybe it was one of those off-hand offers people make that they don’t really mean, like when someone offers their friend a bite of their dessert, hoping they’ll say no. But Annie pulls Abed aside after the pizza to talk details, so she’s definitely not saying no.

Troy thinks about it more, as the night goes on. It’s not that he wouldn’t want Annie to live with them. He would’ve preferred if Abed consulted him first, sure, but that’s not even really what’s got him upset. He thinks it was something about the way Abed told her, “This is a two bedroom.”

When everyone’s gone and they’re cleaning up, after Abed drapes his suit jacket over the back of a chair and rolls up the sleeves of his shirt, Troy asks him, “Why did you ask Annie to move in with us?”

“You’ve seen her apartment. It’s in a terrible neighborhood. I found a handgun in her purse last week.” Troy takes a moment to process _that_ bit of new information while Abed folds up a pizza box. “Plus, as the three youngest members of the group, our trio has high potential for hijinks. Although the chloroform incident was traumatic in the moment, looking back it’s prime sitcom material.” Abed pauses in front of the trash can. “Was this something I should have discussed with you first? Is that why you’re asking?”

“No,” Troy says. Then, “Yes. Wait.” He shakes his head, trying to sort out his thoughts. “No, that’s not why I’m asking, but yes, you should’ve talked to me first. I’m not mad, though, just in the future it’d be nice,” he clarifies. Stacking some Solo cups, he bites his lip. “I just... Does this mean we’re taking down the Dreamatorium?”

“No. Dreamatorium’s non-negotiable,” Abed assures as leans against the counter.

Troy instantly relaxes. “Good,” he says, until he really thinks about it. “Wait, where’s she going to sleep, then?”

“You know that nook we didn’t know what to do with and just stuck a couch in? Well, what’s better than a bedroom?” Abed asks.

A lot of things are better than a bedroom, probably, and Troy’s trying to decide which of those things it could be before he gets it. “Blanket fort!” He yells.

Abed shoots him a finger gun. “Exactly.”

Troy squeezes Abed’s shoulder, practically vibrating with excitement. “Dude, she’s gonna love it.”

**

The weirdest thing about Pierce’s dad dying, aside from the fact that he wasn’t dead already, is that Troy doesn’t think he’s ever been to a funeral where not a single person was sad. The study group is mostly there to support Pierce, so he’s not surprised by their lack of tears, but Pierce himself is even less affected than he was when his mom died. And his dad’s not in an Energon pod, so according to Pierce’s wack-ass belief system, unlike his mother, his dad’s gone for good.

Troy can’t help but ask about it, during the reception after the service. Pierce just smiles and says, “My old man was all the worst parts of me, Troy. It’s comforting to think some of that died with him.”

All-in-all, it’s a strange day. When they get back to the apartment, Troy and Abed don’t bother changing out of their nice clothes, instead wordlessly deciding to collapse into their respective chairs and watch reruns.

Troy’s feeling mostly decompressed when Abed says, “I forgot to ask, where did you go during the funeral?”

Troy looks away from _Inspector Spacetime_ to glance at Abed. “Oh. Yeah. The air conditioning repair guys wanted to know my answer.”

“And?” Abed asks. His eyes are still glued to the TV.

“I said no.”

The corner of Abed’s mouth twitches. “How did they know where you were?”

“I think they might be a cult?” Apparently, this is more interesting to Abed than _Inspector Spacetime_. Abed grabs the remote to pause it as Troy continues. “It’s either they communicate through air vents with magic, or they have some sort of spy network with access to security cameras, but I don’t think normal trade schools do stuff like that, so: Cult.”

“I can’t decide if that’s really cool or really creepy. I suppose it could be both. Do you think they can watch us through our vents?” They look at each other in alarm as soon as Abed finishes that thought, before both slowly turning towards their AC unit. “Troy? Could you use your weird repair powers find a hypothetical bug in our air conditioner?”

Troy’s eyes get wider. “You think there’s a beetle in there?”

“Bug as in _Mission Impossible_ ,” Abed corrects.

“Oh.” Rolling up his sleeves, Troy says, “Get me the toolbox and we can find out.”

It takes about five minutes of searching, after they remove the front of the unit, for Troy to confirm that the AC is bug-free. When Abed asks, he can’t tell him how he knows, exactly. He just does.

“You know,” Troy says, kneeling down to get a better look at it, “I could probably make a couple tweaks in here that would lower the bill _and_ make it work better. If that’s cool with you.”

“Go ahead.” Abed studies him intently as he works. Troy purposefully keeps his eyes focused on what he’s doing, but he can almost feel Abed’s gaze burning his hands, his shoulder, the side of his face. Heat gets trapped under Troy’s shirt and dampens the back of his neck. He wants to blame it on the air being shut off while he messes with it, but it’s early November, so it wasn’t on to begin with.

He pauses halfway through to take his shirt off. It helps, but also makes the burn worse, somehow. Saying nothing, Abed keeps watching.

When he finishes, Troy wipes the sweat off his brow and stands up, replacing the cover on the unit. He turns it on, just to check, and air flows out, stronger and colder than ever before.

Waving a hand in front of it, Abed looks at Troy with raised brows. “That’s amazing. I’ve seen you fix stuff before, so I didn’t doubt it when you said you had a gift, but...” Abed shivers and Troy shuts the air off. “Maybe this is your calling. I know they might be a cult, but why did you tell the repair school no?”

Troy shrugs, pulling his shirt back on but leaving it unbuttoned. “You said to go with whatever makes me happiest.”

“So you’re going to be a plumber?” Troy shakes his head. He starts to put the tools away, so he doesn’t have to meet Abed’s eyes. “When we talked about this at the pride thing, you said you wanted to watch TV with me. Is that what makes you happiest?”

Troy curses as he drops a wrench. “Yeah,” he admits. “Yeah, it is.”

He chances a look at Abed and finds him smiling. It’s slight, but it has a way of brightening his whole face that makes him appear to almost bloom with happiness. Troy is caught by it, feeling the urge to explain or downplay or backtrack, but unsure how, or why.

He nearly sighs in relief when Abed asks, “Wanna see what you can do to our shower?”

**

Giving up their bedroom and moving into the blanket fort is a fair trade for getting to keep both the Dreamatorium and Annie. And the blanket fort is totally awesome, so it’s not even that much of a downgrade. Plus, Annie knows how to do things like get stains out of the carpet and make actual breakfast that isn’t just cereal.

They find out about the latter thing the morning after she moves in, when she knocks on the wall next to the fort. Abed, who’s already awake, tells her to come in.

“Oh,” she says when she pulls back the blanket door. She blinks at them, eyebrows raised, and mouth small.

Troy picks his head off of Abed’s chest. “Something smells good.”

Shaking herself, Annie says, “I made waffles.”

Throwing off the comforter, Troy and Abed both scramble out of bed, thanking her profusely. They’re very good waffles.

And for as much as she worried about not being able to hang with them, she joins in on their shenanigans more often than not. It’s even her idea, one day when they get to the study room before everyone else, to do a sweater swap, like that one episode of _Parks and Rec_. Abed seems thoroughly impressed when she suggests it. Annie puts on Abed’s flannel, Abed takes Troy’s hoodie, and Troy tries his best not to stretch out Annie’s cardigan too much. For their part, it takes the rest of the study group five whole minutes before Jeff says, exasperated, “What, are we all just going to pretend to ignore it?”

So, even though it got off to a rough start, having Annie move in is awesome. They drive to school together in the morning, have dinner together most nights, and watch a movie together every Saturday. For Troy, and he thinks maybe for all of them, it’s as though he finally has something that feels like how a family is supposed to feel.

**

After the Christmas pageant, Troy, Abed and Annie return to the apartment in a Glee-induced stupor. If Britta was right, and this is anything like what it’s like the day after taking ecstasy, Troy has one more reason to never try ecstasy.

“I feel like I was just run over by several trucks in quick succession,” Abed says, clutching his head.

The door slams shut behind Annie and all three of them wince. “The last time I felt like this was in rehab,” she says.

“Remember that time I ate a giant cookie? This is like if I ate a hundred giant cookies,” Troy adds as he and Abed shrug out of their jackets.

Annie stumbles to her room, coming back out with her backpack slung over her shoulder. “I’m going over to Jeff’s,” she tells them.

“Why?” Abed asks, shaking out some ibuprofen and giving two to each of them.

While Abed goes to get himself and Troy a glass of water, Annie dry swallows both of hers at once, a skill Troy assumes she picked up in high school. “He has a final paper due tomorrow,” she explains. “Since I’m one who got him sucked into Glee and made him check out of everything else in his life for a week, I figured the least I could do was help him write it.”

“How did you convince him to join, anyway?” Troy asks. “He hates Glee more than any of us.”

Biting her lip, Annie shrugs. “I just appealed to his ego. You know Jeff.”

Abed hands Troy his water and they take their pills. “That does track for Jeff’s character,” Abed muses.

“Anyway, I’m on my way out. I probably won’t be back till late.” She gives them both a quick hug goodbye and opens the door.

“Have fun!” Troy says.

Annie laughs. “Unlikely!” She calls over her shoulder.

Abed pulls the door closed. “I would suggest we figure out what we’re doing for dinner, but if you feel anything like I do right now, I assume you have no interest in food,” he says.

Bracing an arm against the wall, Troy sags forward. Abed’s right, he can’t even think about eating without needing to suppress the urge to vomit. “I know it’s like, only seven thirty, but can we just go to sleep?”

“That’s a solid plan,” Abed agrees, toeing off his shoes.

They don’t brush their teeth. They don’t even bother with pajamas, instead just stripping to their boxers and crawling into bed. Forgoing their usual position of Troy laying on Abed, Abed spoons Troy so they can both lay curled on their sides.

Troy groans, burying his face in the pillow. Abed starts gently rubbing a hand over Troy’s stomach, which feels kind of nice, actually. They just lay there for a bit, in too much pain to fall asleep yet.

“I feel like I need to apologize,” Abed says, eventually.

Troy wants to roll over to face him, but it feels like too much effort. “Why would you need to apologize?”

“Just like Annie feels guilty for her role in getting Jeff involved in Glee, I’m the one who dragged you into it, so I’m sorry,” he explains.

Troy hums. “I didn’t need much convincing, to be fair. But I’m not mad at you, so don’t worry about that. I guess I just don’t get it? Like, why did you want us all to do Glee so bad?”

“I got another card from my mom last week. She can’t make it. Again.” He pats Troy’s stomach soothingly when he tenses. “I wasn’t that disappointed about it, but I was when you all said you had plans. I liked the Christmas party we had freshmen year, and when we all watched _Rudolph_ in my dorm last year. I wanted us to have a Christmas episode. Something lighter this time, but I miscalculated on that. I really wasn’t expecting the homicide.”

Troy shudders when he remembers Mr. Rad’s confession, then covers Abed’s hand with his own. “You should’ve said something. We can watch the _Inspector Spacetime_ special when I get back from spending time with my family, and I’m sure the others—”

He can feel Abed shaking his head behind him. “It’s okay. I would like to watch the special with you, but I’m mostly just glad that we didn’t all die in a bus-related mass murder. I don’t need anything else.”

Troy frowns. “Okay, buddy. Sounds good.”

When Abed starts snoring into Troy’s hair, Troy gets an idea. It’s a good idea, and he nearly reaches for his phone to text Annie about it, but his entire body hurts and Abed is so warm where he’s pressed against him. He decides it can wait until tomorrow.

*

Troy wakes up the next morning just before dawn. It’s the part of the day where it’s not all the way dark anymore but the sun has yet to rise, so rather than the golden glow of early morning, everything is bathed in a greyish half-light. The digital clock across the blanket fort reads 6:03 AM, which is nearly an hour before the alarm normally goes off.

He’s annoyed, wondering why he’s so wide-awake, especially considering that he still feels like shit, when he hears the noise he assumes woke him in the first place. Something metal rattles and clangs and he hears a muffled thud from the living room, followed by a crash and a soft “Shit!”

Abed stirs behind him and starts to mumble something, but Troy puts a finger to his mouth. He turns his head around until his lips touch Abed’s ear and whispers, “Someone’s in the apartment.”

Abed freezes, eyes snapping open when another rustle comes from outside. He reaches a hand down beneath the bed, handing Troy a baseball bat and taking the spare section of two-by-four (from when they tried to make a Blorgon) for himself. He nods towards the entrance to the fort and Troy gets off of Abed as quietly as he can. Crouching by the entrance, Abed counts down from three on his fingers, after which they both charge, screaming, into the living room.

They’re greeted by a thoroughly terrified Annie, who jumps up from the pile of books on the floor and screams back at them.

“What the hell, you guys?” Annie shouts, clutching her chest.

“We thought you were an intruder,” Abed says, lowering his weapon.

Troy sets the bat down. “Why are you up so early? And why are you fully dressed?”

“Why are you both in your underwear?” She asks, as if just noticing.

“Post-Glee withdrawal sweats,” Abed lies, smoothly. “Also, why is the window open?”

Annie looks at him, wide eyed. “I’ve been... Trying meditation!” She says. “I like to go out on the fire escape, to watch the sunrise. It’s very... Ah... Relaxing.”

“Right,” Troy says, stretching out the word. “What’s with the books, then?”

“I knocked them over when I came in. Sorry I woke you guys up,” she says, sheepish. “You can go back to sleep.”

“It’s unlikely we will be able to. We’d only have about fifty minutes left, anyway,” Abed informs her. Annie cringes.

“Tell you what, how about you two put some clothes on and I make pancakes? As an apology?” She smiles at them hopefully, and Abed brightens.

“Put chocolate chips in them, and you’re already forgiven.” Abed ducks back into the blanket fort, tossing a bundle of clothes at Troy. “I’m going to shower, and then Troy and I are going to stay in our pajamas all day and play video games. You’re welcome to join us,” he offers to Annie.

“Oh, yeah, it’s officially break now, huh?” She considers it. “I wanted to get some reading done, but I’d be down to play a little Mario Kart after breakfast.”

Abed shoots her some finger guns before walking to the bathroom. Troy pulls on his pajamas as Annie stacks the books back on the shelf. “Need any help with the pancakes?” He asks her once she’s finished.

“Probably not any help, but I could use some company.”

He sits on the counter next to her while she measures ingredients. Noticing the scarf she still has on, he makes a mental note to mess with the heater like he did with the AC unit. “So, Abed’s mom bailed on him again this year,” he says.

“Oh, no, poor Abed.” Annie looks at Troy in concern. “Is he okay? Everything still live action?”

“Yeah, don’t worry. He’s fine, just...” Troy sighs. “I know everyone has plans for break, but if there’s any way you could spare some time this weekend, I think it would be nice to surprise him. You know, have everyone come over here for a family Christmas? I was thinking sweaters, Shirley’s cookies, maybe some caroling...”

Annie squeals, throwing her arms around him. “Oh, Troy! That would be so sweet. I can definitely make some time this weekend, and I’m sure I can get the others on board, too. I’ll text them once I get these in the pan,” she says, gesturing to the mixing bowl.

“Awesome. Thanks, Annie.”

“No problem,” she says, beaming. “I just love surprises!”

*

It’s remarkable how little Troy has to do, once he gets Annie involved. She figures out timing, sends everyone the lyrics to the carol they’ll be singing, buys food, and even buys Troy a Christmas sweater. He just has to tell Abed he’s going to the gym that evening, which makes him feel a little bad, because friends don’t lie.

But Abed’s face when they all file through the door, singing, is more than worth it. They all suffer through the _Inspector Spacetime_ Christmas special together, then Annie sets up a Christmas playlist on the speakers while Britta breaks out the eggnog and Shirley passes around her cookies.

As everyone else gets food in the kitchen, Troy squishes in next to Abed on his chair, grinning at him through a mouthful of cookie.

“I told you that you didn’t have to do this,” Abed says. He’s smiling, though.

“I know,” Troy says. “But we wanted to.” Resting his head on Abed’s shoulder, he says, “Merry Christmas, buddy.”

**

The whole study group manages to squeeze in one more dinner out before the holidays. Crowded around a table at a Chinese restaurant, they’re obnoxious enough that Troy feels bad for their waitress, though the massive tip Pierce leaves when he picks up the tab lessens his guilt a little.

After they’ve cracked open their fortune cookies, Jeff asks, “So, Annie, where do you want to go for your first _legal_ drink on Monday?”

She flushes under the cheers from around the table, then shrugs, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I don’t know! I’ve only ever been to the Ballroom, and I don’t necessarily want to go back.” Everyone else nods their head in agreement. “What do you suggest?”

Jeff says, “L Street,” at the same time Britta says, “The Red Door,” and the two whip their heads around to glare at each other.

Troy groans, burying his face in his hands. “Not this shit again,” he complains, muffled. Abed pats his back sympathetically.

“Sure, why not?” Annie says.

“Annie!” Troy shouts, looking up at her in horror. “No! Why?”

“I want to see what all the fuss was about!” She says, pouting slightly.

“Well, since we’re not going on _Friday_ , it won’t be lame,” Britta says, smug.

“L Street is never lame, Britta,” Jeff fires back.

“The Red Door!” She yells, and both seem ready to jump out of their chairs when Annie places a calming hand on their shoulders.

“Since I no longer indulge in excess drinking,” Shirley says, sweetly, “I can be our designated driver. All seven of us can fit in my van.”

“Shotgun!” Pierce calls, raising his hand and knocking over his glass of water in the process. This seems to break the remaining tension between Jeff and Britta, who instead turn to laugh at Pierce as he grumbles and attempts to mop up the spill with his napkin.

“Guys,” Annie chides them. “Be nice. It’s almost my birthday.”

*

It turns out Jeff and Britta are both right. L Street/The Red Door has dark wood, exposed brick, mismatched tables and chairs, and reddish tinted lightbulbs. The entire back of the liquor shelf at the bar is one big mirror, which Troy can see himself frowning into, lit up by a fancy crystal chandelier, as he and Abed wait to pick up everyone’s drinks. Basically, it’s a really cool bar, but that somehow makes it worse.

“Who ordered the shots?” Abed asks as the bartender starts setting drinks in front of them.

“Annie’s never taken one before,” Troy explains.

“So you got her two?”

“No.” Troy picks up one of the shots. “This one’s for me,” he says, slamming the glass back onto the bar after he downs it. “I already spent one birthday being sober and listening to Jeff and Britta argue. This time, I’m getting fucked up.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you actually drunk before,” Abed says, picking up the tray and carrying it over to their table.

“Last time I got truly wasted was in high school, so. This should be fun.” Sliding into the booth next to Abed, Troy catches the end of a surprisingly amicable conversation between Jeff and Britta, after which they take their drinks and clink glasses. Troy narrows his eyes, taking a sip of his beer. “Since when are you two all chummy?”

“Since we were reminded how cool this place is. And how awesome we are for knowing about it, and for bringing Annie here for her birthday,” Britta explains. “What we call it hardly matters, knowing all of that.”

Jeff nods in agreement as Troy gapes at them. “Milady,” he says, handing Annie her shot.

“Milord,” Annie giggles. She tries to knock it back and is mostly successful, apart from a small cough and the way her face screws up once she swallows it. “Okay, maybe shots aren’t for me,” she admits, and everyone laughs. “Jeff?” she says, batting her eyes. “Could you please go get me an appletini?”

He looks horrified at the notion, but under the unrelenting pressure of her doe eyes, he sighs, sliding out of the booth. “Fine, but only because it’s your birthday.”

“Thank you!” She calls, singsong, as he makes his way to the bar.

“Are you still planning on getting extremely drunk, now that Jeff and Britta are no longer fighting?” Abed asks.

Troy eyes his bottle of beer, already half-gone, and considers the shot he’s already had. “What the hell? Sure.”

“Good man, Troy!” Pierce says. “You’re young, you need to take advantage. I racked up quite a few nights I couldn’t remember when I was your age. Granted, that was the sixties, so I wasn’t necessarily _drinking_ —"

“Yay!” Annie claps, interrupting. “Let’s all get super drunk together, then. It’ll be a bonding experience.” She pauses, glancing across the table. “Well, except Shirley, of course, since she drove. But you’ll still bonding with us!”

“If this is my penance for all the times someone else had to take my drunk ass home, then so be it,” Shirley sighs, swirling the straw around in her water.

“Count me out, too,” Abed says. “I’ll have a few drinks, but I’d prefer to be aware enough to observe and remember your drunken antics.”

“What’d I miss?” Jeff asks as he returns with Annie’s appletini. She beams at him when he gives it to her.

“We’re all getting trashed tonight, dude!” Britta says, holding her hand out for a high five. Only Abed takes her up on it.

“Oh, I am so going to regret this in the morning,” Jeff mutters as he polishes off his scotch.

Shirley stands, shaking her head. “I’ll go get the next round.”

*

Four more drinks later, Troy’s feeling _good_. His body feels all loose and floaty, and he’s with his best friends in the world, and they’re all having the _best_ time right now. He almost forgets why he was so mad at the beginning of the night.

And Abed! He’s playing pool against Jeff right now and is giving him a run for his money, which is saying something, considering Jeff’s notable pool prowess. Troy’s gaze can’t help but be drawn to Abed’s hands, where they wrap around the cue, and his face, with his features drawn up in concentration, the tip of his tongue peeking out of the corner of his mouth. He nurses his drink and watches Abed when he’s up, but when it’s Jeff’s turn he clings to Abed, throwing an arm over his shoulder, or hugging him around the waist. Troy didn’t realize he was such a cuddly drunk. It’s so much touching that he worries Abed will tell him to stop, but instead Abed wraps around him, too, looking on in amusement as Troy laughs at nothing.

After missing the eight ball on his turn, Abed is quickly defeated by Jeff, who thrusts his cue in the air and cheers.

Annie squeals, giving Jeff a hug. His eyes widen after a moment, perhaps a delayed reaction from being caught off-guard.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” Annie announces, stumbling towards the back of the bar.

Hanging up his cue, Jeff glances after her. “Me, too,” he says.

Once Jeff’s gone, Troy hooks his chin over Abed’s shoulder from behind. “Be honest,” he murmurs in his ear, “did you throw that last shot?”

“For the sake of Jeff’s ego,” Abed smirks, “I’ll never tell.”

Ten minutes later, the five of them not in the bathroom are back in their booth. Pierce regales Britta and Shirley with some long-winded story about a bar fight in his youth. Troy half-listens, from where he lounges between Abed’s legs, using his chest as a backrest.

He tilts his head back to look at Abed. “Hi,” he says, grinning.

“You’re an entertaining drunk,” Abed tells him, and Troy laughs because his face is upside down.

“Jeff!” Pierce exclaims. “What took you so long?”

“If you must know, Pierce,” Jeff begins as he sits down, “I ate something earlier that didn’t agree with me.”

“Oh, Jeffery!” Shirley says. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Much better now, Shirley, don’t worry.” He grimaces. “I think I’m cutting myself off for the night, though.”

“Boo! Jeff’s _lame_ ,” Britta slurs, slumped over in her chair, as Annie returns.

“Annie, did you get food poisoning, too?” Shirley asks.

Annie wrinkles her nose. “What? No. I just have a... Certain monthly visitor, that came early.”

“Oh, no. And on your birthday?” Shirley tuts, patting Annie’s hand.

Abed looks at Annie strangely. “Your skirt’s on backwards,” he informs her.

And so it is. Annie turns bright red as she tries to surreptitiously turn it around. “Thanks, Abed,” she says, strained, before taking her seat next to Jeff.

*

Abed has to half carry Troy and Annie up the stairs to their apartment when they get home that night, with how much the two of them are leaning on him. He sits them down at the table and makes them each drink a glass of water before he lets them go to bed. Annie spills a good portion of it on herself due to her completely missing her mouth, which makes her very nearly start crying. Abed hands her a chocolate, though, and that seems to calm her down.

After tucking Annie in, Abed leads Troy to the bathroom and hands him his toothbrush, squirting some toothpaste on it for him. Troy feels like maybe he should be offended, at how Abed’s treating him like he can’t take care of himself, but right now he just feels sort of giddy.

He even helps Troy get undressed, and if Troy didn’t need help with that before, he certainly does now, what with the way his coordination took a nosedive the moment Abed’s nimble fingers started undoing the buttons of his shirt. By some miracle, he manages to get into his pajamas.

Once they’re both in bed, Troy mumbles into Abed’s chest, “Did you have fun?”

“Yes,” Abed replies. “It was a far better bar experience than last time, definitely. What about you?”

“It was so much fun,” he sighs. “I like hanging out with everyone, but you especially, ‘cause you’re my best friend and I always wanna hang out with you, ‘cause you’re awesome.”

Abed huffs a laugh at that. “Go to sleep, Troy.”

“Mm-kay,” Troy yawns, and he’s snoring in seconds.

**

When Spring semester starts, Abed and Annie have class all day on Tuesday, and Troy has the afternoon off. It’s the most solid chunk of alone time he gets all week, and he never wastes it. This week that means taking the time to do some laundry and dancing around the apartment in his underwear between loads.

He hums “Daybreak” while he carries his hamper to the washer. When he opens it, he finds it full of what he assumes to be Annie’s things, based on color palette.

There’s one garment that sticks out, though. He stops humming when he sees it, eyes widening. And okay, a lot of things are making sense now. Setting it aside, he finishes changing the load over and starts both machines, leaning against them once he’s done. Looks like he and Annie need to have a little chat.

*

Troy waits until Abed retreats into the blanket fort to edit something for film class to talk to Annie. She appears to be finished with homework, instead color-coding next week’s schedule while Troy reads the bio textbook. Confident that he’s not going to distract her from anything important, Troy shuts his book.

Annie startles at the thud it makes, glancing up at him. “All done?” She asks, pleasantly.

“How long have you been sleeping with Jeff?”

Her doe eyes get impossibly wider. She laughs, shaky, and highlights something else in her planner. “Oh, Troy. Where would you get that idea?”

“Well, you’re spending a lot of time together—”

“Yeah, ‘cause we’re friends! That’s what friends do!” She interrupts, indignant.

“I’m not finished,” Troy says, and starts to count on his fingers. “You two are constantly making googly eyes at each other, he drives you everywhere, you both took _way_ too long in the bathroom on your birthday, you make a ton of noise on the fire escape when you sneak back into the apartment in the morning, and oh, yeah, I moved your laundry to the drier the other day because I’m an awesome roommate, and guess what I found?” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pair Jeff’s stripy Beetlejuice underwear. “You gonna try to tell me these are yours?”

Annie pales. She opens and closes her mouth like a fish for a minute before pressing her lips into a thin line.

“That’s what I thought,” Troy says, smug. She catches the underwear when he tosses it to her, glaring at him as she stuffs it in her bag. “So I’m gonna ask you again, how long have you been sleeping with Jeff?”

“Well, I could ask you the same thing!” Crossing her arms, she turns her nose up at him.

“What? Annie, I’m not sleeping with Jeff.”

She rolls her eyes. “I’m not talking about Jeff; I’m talking about Abed!”

Troy furrows his brow. “Wait, _Abed’s_ sleeping with Jeff, too?”

“No! God, stop acting like you—” She huffs. “Do you think I don’t notice how only one of those bunk beds ever gets slept in?”

Troy lets out a very Annie-like scoff. Resting an elbow on the table, he points a finger at her. “But we’re _just_ sleeping! You and Jeff are having secret sex!”

She looks at him, her expression halfway to a Disney face. “Fine!” She throws her hands in the air. “Yes, we’ve been sleeping together. Since last summer. We started hanging out more after paintball and we just... You know?”

“Ah _ha!_ ” Troy pumps a fist in the air. “I _knew_ it. Wait— Are you dating, or is this another Jeff and Britta situation?”

She sniffs. “It is _not_ another Jeff and Britta situation. Well, we’re not, like, official or anything...” Troy raises an eyebrow. “But it’s not anything like _that_. Neither of us is seeing anyone else, but Jeff is...” She sighs. “Well, you know how he is about commitment.”

Troy nods. “I remember. But what about you? Are you okay with that?”

“I mean, it’s not ideal.” Annie shrugs. “But I’m fine with it. Really. What we have right now is good, and I’m happy, so...” Her sigh is wistful enough that Troy starts to feel bad for the inquisition.

“Well, just let me know if he ever makes you not happy.” Troy makes a fist. “I’ve seen Jeff in a fight, I can totally take him.”

She giggles. “Oh, trust me. I know you can.” Seeming nervous again, she taps her highlighter against the table a few times. “Can you not tell anyone else about this, though? No one else knows, and I want to keep it that way.”

“I got you.” Troy makes an X over his heart.

“I’m serious,” Annie warns. “You can’t even tell Abed.”

Abed, of course, chooses this exact moment to exit the blanket fort.

“Tell me what?” he asks, casual. He takes in the panicked looks Troy and Annie are sending each other and tilts his head. “Is this about Jeff and Annie having secret sex? Because I already knew about that.”

Annie gasps. “Abed!”

“What?” Abed asks. “You weren’t exactly subtle.”

“You...” She frowns at him. “Whatever. You’re not allowed to tell anyone either, okay?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it,” Abed promises. “The secret relationship plotline is way too interesting for me to want to ruin it.”

“Good.” Annie checks her phone as it buzzes. “Shoot, I’ve got to run,” she says, dashing into her room.

“Off to see Jeff?” Troy teases.

“No!” She calls, emerging from her room with an overnight bag. “Wait, sorry. Force of habit. Yes.” She smirks at them from the doorway. “Don’t wait up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One night I was trying to fall asleep and thinking about this fic (which is all I’ve been doing lately lol) and I was almost unconscious when I thought, “What if they went to Ikea?” So legit I have a note on my phone that I wrote at 1:30 AM that just says, “GAYS AT IKEA.” 
> 
> This is kind of a filler chapter, but I’m trying to set some stuff up before the plot picks up in the next couple of chapters. I’m sure you all remember what happens in season 3. ;) I wanted to get some more fluff in there before the angst kicks in.
> 
> As always, thank you all for reading and commenting! Hearing your feedback really motivates me to keep writing. :) Let me know your thoughts on this chapter!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up, this chapter is NSFW. Should be fairly easy to skip over that part, if that’s not your thing. But otherwise, enjoy. ;)

Troy swallows his champagne around the lump in his throat as he watches Abed do some sort of synchronized dance. It’s a group thing, half of the people at Shirley’s wedding are doing it, but it still seems like Abed is dancing with the pretty blonde next to him. He’s giving her his most charming smile and though Troy can’t hear it from here, he knows she’s blushing at his voice. Tonight, it’s lower, smoother, and a hint suggestive. Abed’s not really doing an impression of anyone right now, but if Troy had to categorize it, he’d say it’s about halfway to Don Draper. His Don Draper at full power seduced Annie to a puddle in less than thirty seconds, but even halfway there, it’s enough to send something burning through one’s stomach.

Not that Troy’s stomach is burning, or anything. Nothing he can’t blame on the champagne. He’s being normal, taking a normal break and watching his normal friend dance normally with a perfectly normal woman. It’s all very normal.

Abed catches Troy’s eye and grins at him. Troy smiles back and it must look convincing because Abed turns his attention to the woman beside him again. The champagne has left a bitter taste in Troy’s mouth.

The thing about “Troy and Abed being normal” is that even in attempting to be normal, they’re still being weird. The “weird-down” didn’t so much purge all the weird from their systems as focus it, allow them to devote themselves wholly to one role: Being normal. But that means they’re still playing pretend, in a way. Or at least, Troy’s playing pretend. He just hopes this doesn’t last much past the end of the reception.

Troy doesn’t hate being normal, exactly. It’s actually been kind of nice, getting to be so bland and unaffected by everything. Especially after allowing himself such concentrated weirdness. When Abed said no restraints, he really wasn’t kidding. They might even have to go in and clean the Dreamatorium tomorrow.

Troy’s face feels warm as he tries not to think about it. There are details his brain needs to skip over, if he’s going to keep up with this “normal” thing, and sense memories that make sweat start to bead up on the back of his neck. He glances around the room, tugging at his collar, finding no one paying much attention to him. _What the hell_ , he thinks. He’s taking a break. Nothing wrong with letting himself remember some things, right?

**

Troy sets his box of props down next to Abed’s against the wall and starts to do some of his ballet stretches as Abed fiddles with his phone.

“Okay,” Abed says. “I’ve turned off cellular data. No calls or texts will interrupt us. Annie won’t be interrupting, either. She elected to stay at Jeff’s instead when I informed her of our plans. I have set an alarm every four hours for a bathroom and snack break. We will have one four-hour nap period and will take water breaks between simulations. You remembered water, right?”

Troy nods towards his full bottle in the corner as he stretches his hamstring. “Yup.”

“Excellent. That should be everything we need. Now, Troy,” Abed walks over to him and grabs his shoulders. “We have never attempted anything of this scale before. The next twenty-four hours will be some of the most intense of our lives, but we will emerge from this room changed men. I need to know, are you ready for this?”

Troy tilts his chin up. “I was born ready. Let’s do this.”

They do their handshake and Abed beams at him. “Cool. Cool cool cool.” Then, squaring his shoulders, Abed says, “Begin simulation.”

*

Troy can’t remember the last time he had this much fun. Paintball? No, that was fun, but also stressful. The blanket fort? Less stressful, but he still had to be in charge, which is its own kind of stressful. Here, there are no stakes, and Troy and Abed are accountable to no one but each other. Absolutely no stress, just the rush of freedom and child-like glee.

If Troy’s high school self could see him now, he would call him a nerd. There are a lot of things his high school self didn’t know or understand, and Troy takes a moment to feel sorry for him.

Right now, they’re doing the episode of Inspector Spacetime where the Inspector takes Reggie back in time to visit his home planet, Kayaclasch, before it was destroyed. The Inspector says he just wants to show Reggie his past, but really, he wants to try to save everyone, even though he knows more than anyone that the laws of time and space won’t allow it. They’ve gotten to the part where Reggie and the Inspector have just watched Kayaclasch get erased in the Time Wave from a neighboring planet they’ve stranded themselves on. The Time Booth has broken down, so they have to camp out while they work on repairs. The two warm their hands over the fire in somber silence.

“You did the best you could, Inspector,” Troy says.

Abed scoffs, poking at the fire. “It wasn’t enough. No matter what I do, I can’t stop it.”

Troy shrugs, taking off his gloves and setting them on the ground beside him. “I know, but... Part of you knew that going into it, didn’t you? That it was impossible?”

“I had to try.” Abed shakes his head. “It can’t be impossible, Reggie, it just can’t.”

“Why not, Inspector?”

“Because then they’re gone!” Abed shouts, standing abruptly and starting to pace. “And if they’re gone, that means I really am the last of my kind. It means I’m alone in the universe.”

Troy watches the flicking light dance off Abed’s bathrobe as the fire pixelates and glitches. Abed doesn’t notice. Troy knows what comes next in this episode. Reggie tells the Inspector they’ll try again, that they won’t stop until they find a way to save Kayaclasch. Troy’s chest tightens. He thinks about how Abed’s words sometimes seem like they’re spoken by two people, Abed’s own voice layered on top of whatever character he’s doing. And then Troy remembers, “no restraints.”

He stands, grabbing Abed’s wrist to stop his pacing. Abed turns to look at him and Troy almost misses the flash of confusion. This is Abed’s favorite episode. He knows it by heart, and this is not in the script.

“You’re not alone, Inspector. You will never be alone. Not when you have me,” Troy says, gently. He tries to make it the same, tries to say it with two voices.

Abed smiles ruefully. “Reggie... My Constables. They all leave, eventually.”

“Not me,” Troy promises. “Never me.”

The crackling sound of the fire fades out. The trees freeze as the wind stops blowing.

Abed stares at him with wonder in his eyes. He turns to face Troy straight on, cups his cheek. Troy’s brain itches. They’re improvising, somewhere in the fuzzy space between acting and instinct and truth, and Troy tires to think how Reggie would respond to this. He sways closer, muscle memory.

Abed ducks his head. He brushes his lips over Troy’s before pressing a soft kiss on the corner of Troy’s mouth. Troy inhales sharply, parting his lips, and Abed pulls back enough to look cautiously at Troy. Troy’s not sure if this is the Inspector asking Reggie or Abed asking Troy, but he thinks the answer’s the same either way.

He puts a hand on the back of Abed’s neck and kisses him. He goes slow at first, giving Abed time to adjust, or push him away, if he’s changed his mind. Abed removes his hat and tosses it a few feet away and then his hands are on Troy’s hips, pulling them flush together. Troy’s gasp turns to a soft moan as Abed slips his tongue into his mouth.

Abed slides his hand under Troy’s shirt, digging his nails into Troy’s back when Troy grabs Abed’s hair in his fist and gives an experimental tug. Troy’s other hand works on untying the belt of Abed’s robe, then pushes it off his shoulders until it falls to the ground. They break away so Abed can take off Troy’s shirt and Troy his, giving Troy only moment to admire Abed’s bare chest before he’s back on him.

Abed walks them backwards until he has Troy pressed up against the wall. He tugs on Troy’s bottom lip with his teeth until Troy moans again. Wanting to even the score, Troy pulls Abed’s hair a little harder this time, drawing a low noise out of him that Troy can feel rumble in his chest. Abed grabs Troy’s hands and pins them to the wall above his head, holding both of his wrists in one hand, which for some reason goes straight to Troy’s dick. He struggles half-heartedly to break free, just to see, and finds that he probably couldn’t move, even if he really tried. He always forgets just how much stronger than him Abed is. Abed presses his teeth almost too hard into Troy’s lip and squeezes Troy’s wrists tighter, as if in warning.

It’s the hottest thing that’s ever happened to him. He’s only ever done this with girls before, so he had no idea being manhandled would be such a _thing_ for him, but God, is it working. Abed stops kissing him to mouth along his neck and all Troy can do is tilt his head to the other side and try to catch his breath.

Troy tenses when Abed gets to the spot where his shoulder meets his neck, then makes a strangled sound when he feels a sharp bite. Abed starts to suck on the mark and Troy can’t keep his hips from canting forward. Abed shifts so one of his legs is between Troy’s own. The friction from it is slight, but it’s enough that Troy can barely stop himself from pushing into it. But then Abed uses his free hand to roll one of Troy’s nipples between his fingers and he can’t help but thrust forward, his moan louder without Abed’s mouth to swallow it up.

His head thumps back against the wall. “Oh, God,” he pants.

Abed detaches himself from his neck and Troy shivers at the feeling of cool air against wet skin. He moves his lips to just behind Troy’s ear and says, in a rough voice, “What do you want me to do?”

“Just... Take pants, off. Please,” Troy begs. “Touch me.” Abed complies, still one-handed, and pulls his and Troy’s pants and underwear down far enough to free their dicks. Troy flexes his wrists, feeling helpless and frustrated in a way that makes all of his skin burn.

Abed spits on his free hand and wraps it around them both, and Troy almost loses it right then, just thinking about how long Abed’s fingers are. (And what else he might do with them.) Troy kisses him again to distract himself, and to muffle the noises he makes as Abed jacks them off. It quickly turns filthy, more teeth and tongue than skill, and Troy feels something white-hot coil low in his abdomen.

He shudders as he comes, breaking the kiss to throw his head back and gasp. Abed sinks his teeth into what’s going to be one hell of a hickey and follows him over the edge with a muffled grunt.

Troy breathes raggedly as he comes down, shaking when the cold of the room begins to seep in. Abed releases his wrists, pulling him away from the wall and down to sit on the ground. An alarm beeps. Abed goes to the other side of the room as Troy stares at the orange grid on the wall in front of him. He doesn’t remember when it stopped being a campsite on an alien planet and started being just a dark room. He didn’t hear Abed say “stop simulation.”

Abed comes back with two pillows, some blankets, and his water bottle. He hands it to Troy and tells him to drink so he does, watching Abed spread a comforter out on the floor and arrange the pillows next to each other, covering it all with more blankets. He turns to Troy, taking his water bottle and setting it aside, then leads Troy to the makeshift bed, holding the covers up for him as he crawls under them. Troy turns to face him as he settles in beside him. Abed lets the blankets fall over them, then wraps his arms around Troy.

Troy shivers some more as he warms up and Abed rubs his back. “What’re you...”

Abed shushes him. “Four-hour nap break. Go to sleep.”

Troy sighs, content to just go with it and snuggle in closer. Right before he drifts off, he feels Abed press a gentle kiss to his forehead.

**

It shouldn’t be surprising, in a day that’s filled with weirdness, that Troy and Abed wake up to the alarm four hours later, wash up, get dressed, eat, and carry on with the rest of it as though nothing had happened. Troy only thinks about it for a minute when he’s in the shower, the fact that it was super weird, before he decides there’s nothing that weird about it. After all, this was supposed to be a no holds barred, twenty-four hour weird-a-thon. Of course they did something extra weird and are now weirdly not going to talk about it. (Troy assumes it’s Vegas rules.) And they don’t stray into any less than platonic situations in further simulations, (nor do they do Inspector Spacetime again), so Troy chalks it up to a character choice.

By the time they get to Shirley’s wedding, Troy and Abed are so normal that it really doesn’t matter anymore. But now Troy’s thinking about it and his shirt feels buttoned up too high as he watches Abed dance with a woman like some bland, generic, _normal_ man, and he _hates_ it. This isn’t who Abed is. It isn’t who he is. His hand wanders to the sore part between his neck and shoulder, then presses into it until he winces. It’s been a fun game for an evening, but if things don’t get weird again soon, he might cry.

He downs the rest of his champagne and strides across the room. “Abed. Abed!” Abed stops dancing and smiles at him pleasantly. Troy kind of wants to slap him. “We’re weird. We need to be weird.”

Abed laughs. “You want to see something weird? Check out this dance!” he says, gesturing to the people around him. He looks at the blonde. “Uh, what did you call this? The Lindbergh Lean? What’ll they think of next?”

Troy’s hand curls into a fist and he takes a deep breath. “Inspector Spacetime...” he says, slipping into his British accent. “Oh, thank the cosmic engineer I found you.”

Abed turns away. “Troy, this is hardly the time.” He’s almost imperceptibly nervous, beneath the genial veneer, and Troy jumps on it.

“Or is it hardly the space?” He asks.

The corner of Abed’s mouth quirks up. “Okay, I see what you did there.” He stiffens, as if catching himself. “But now I have to get back to my Lindbergh Lean with, uh...” He motions toward the woman. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”

Troy grabs Abed’s (surprisingly toned) bicep and spins him in his direction. Dread begins to gnaw at him. “Inspector...” he says, desperate. He has to resist the urge to look away when Abed meets his eyes. Abed’s gaze starts impassive but turns to something between panicked and confused as he keeps looking into him. “What sort of creature,” Troy tries, “would do a dance called the Lindbergh Lean?”

Abed exhales and softens. “Blorgons?”

“Blorgons,” Troy whispers.

“My name’s Danielle,” the woman calls over Abed’s shoulder.

Abed smiles at him- half himself, half someone else. Under the intensity of his stare, Troy becomes acutely aware that his hand is still on his arm. “Constable Reggie,” Abed says, “it appears the Blorgons have developed the ability to take human form.”

“Weirdos,” Danielle scoffs, walking away.

Troy grins so wide it hurts a little. “Your photonic bowler hat.” He takes an empty bowl and places it on Abed’s head. They do their handshake and sigh happily, the lump in Troy’s throat dissolving.

Abed offers his arm and Troy links it with his. “Blorgon Patrol!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a shorter one this time. This chapter was one of the first ones I wrote when I started this fic (and definitely my favorite so far), so I’ve had it done for a while. I waited to publish it, though, to give myself more time to work on the next chapter, because that one is angsty as hell and REALLY hard to write. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading, and I hope you’re liking it! Let me know what you think. :)


	7. Chapter 7

Troy’s high school English class once did a unit on creative writing. In his first assignment, he wrote about Commander Zerrick, who was in charge of the coolest warship in the whole galaxy and got a bunch of hot alien babes. For all his creative efforts, Troy was rewarded with a C-minus. He stopped paying attention out of spite after that.

He still remembers, though, one of the lectures Mr. Benson gave early on in the unit. “The conflict of your story,” he said over the scratch of chalk against the blackboard, “doesn’t always have to be something huge, or obvious, or overdone. It can be something small, or something your characters aren’t even aware of. Maybe the lack of awareness _is_ the source of conflict.” In an act of perfect irony, someone lobbed a ball of paper at the recycling bin while Mr. Benson’s back was still turned. They missed, hitting Jenny Iverson in the head, who glared around the room, pointing her pencil like a weapon. “When developing this conflict,” Mr. Benson continued, oblivious, “I want you to think about who your characters are, what matters to them, what makes them tick. And I want you to remember: There are a million tiny ways we can betray each other.”

Of all the things he learned in high school, that advice became the most relevant to Troy’s adult life. Particularly when it came to members of the study group. After all, only they could take a chicken finger shortage and turn it into a mob movie, or spin a betrayal as small as a stolen pen into an all-day inquisition that left the library in shambles. It’s par for the course, by now, that all their molehills become mountains.

Troy thinks he’s used to it. Unfortunately for him, he’s about to become familiar with several new types of betrayal.

You see, until this point, Troy and Abed have managed to dance around the gap in their memories. It might be awkward at times, from the perspective of the audience, the way they side-step and shuffle around the plot hole in the stage, but for the most part the choreography holds together. It’s only a matter of time before one wrong move sends them tripping over a loose floorboard and tumbling down in a tangle of limbs, the orchestra screeching to a cacophonous halt as the audience gasps, murmuring amongst themselves, _How could this happen?_

_Did you see it coming?_

**

Four days after Shirley’s wedding, Annie pokes her head out of the kitchen doorway. “Troy?” She draws his name out, voice lilting up in a way he’s come to understand means she needs something.

“Hold on,” Troy says, the tip of his tongue sticking out in concentration. He’s playing _Super Mario Bros_ , one of the harder levels. “Shit,” he mutters as he loses, setting down the controller. “Yeah?”

“The fridge is leaking. Can you...?”

“Sure.” He switches the TV off as he gets up. “Just lemme grab my tools.”

It’s a problem he knows will be a quick fix once he actually gets into the back of the fridge, but the two of them aren’t able to lift it by themselves. Troy would wait until Abed gets home from visiting his dad, but whatever’s wrong with the thing seems to have caused it to stop making things cold, so they should probably get a move on.

“We could try taking everything out first?” Annie suggests as she ties her hair back.

Wiping the sweat from his brow, Troy shrugs. “Let’s do it,” he agrees, then opens the fridge door and starts to help her put things on the counter.

When Abed does get home half an hour later, he walks in to the scene of Troy and Annie, surrounded by produce and melting ice cream, straining to lift the now empty fridge.

“What is this?” Abed asks. Annie jumps, nearly knocking the carton of eggs behind her to the floor before Abed swoops in to catch it.

“The fridge broke. Can you help us turn it around?” Troy asks.

Abed nods, rolling up his sleeves. “I’ll take this side, you and Annie take the other,” he directs. “Count of three.”

It’s almost comically easy to lift with the three of them. It’s one of those times that, rather than merely filling him with envy, Abed’s super strength comes in handy. (There was one other time, recently, that that was the case, but Troy can’t think about it without getting sweaty.)

The good thing is that Troy was right, and all it takes is a few turns of a wrench before the fridge whirrs back to life. They move it back, put the food away, and then Abed turns to Troy.

“Wanna play _Inspector Spacetime_?” He asks.

Troy’s pulse picks up. “I’m actually kind of beat, man. I might just turn in early.”

Abed frowns at him, furrowing his brow. “That’s the second day in a row,” he says. “Are you not sleeping well?”

“I don’t know.” He glances over at the toaster, because he can’t look at Abed. “Maybe I’m coming down with something.”

“Do you want me to take your temperature?” Annie asks, reaching for his forehead with the back of her hand.

Troy ducks out of the way. “I’m fine,” he says. It comes out harsher than he intended, so he concentrates on smoothing his voice over. “Really, I’ll be okay.” Abed’s looking at him in a way that has Troy wishing he could somehow jam the gears turning up in Abed’s head. “Go on without me, don’t worry about it.”

That seems to be enough for Abed, who goes off to the Dreamatorium without another word. Troy sighs, trying and failing not to feel like shit about it. It’s not like Abed really needs him in there, he reasons with himself. There’s plenty of simulations he prefers to run alone.

Annie raises a brow at him from across the kitchen.

“What?” Troy asks, shifting his weight.

She shakes her head. “Nothing. Feel better,” she tells him.

He doesn’t.

**

Troy wouldn’t link the two events together until much later, but the thing with the impersonators only really starts after that. Sure, Abed had figured out that he could hire celebrity impersonators for more than just parties and events a while ago, but it was only then that he actually did it.

He also does it without Troy, which should have been the first hint. Troy finds out about it when he opens the door to the apartment the next day to reveal someone who looks eerily like Uma Thurman from _Kill Bill: Volume 2_. Abed comes out of the blanket fort in a leather jacket and a long gray wig, and Troy settles beside Annie in the kitchen to watch Beatrix and Bill have their conversation at the table. He tries to focus on how well choreographed the sword fight is (and oh, fake blood, that’s a nice touch) rather than the sting he feels at being a mere spectator.

This isn’t the first time Abed’s done a side adventure. And it is pretty cool, objectively. Plus, the impersonators keep Abed busy enough that Troy doesn’t have to come up with more excuses to not play in the Dreamatorium, which he should really be seeing as a positive, since he was starting to run out of ideas.

He spends the better part of the week feeling a strange mixture of relief and jealousy, until Vinnie threatens to break Abed’s legs, after which he mostly feels pure existential terror. He jumps every time someone touches him, muscles wound tight and lungs too stiff to inhale all the way. Strangely, he thinks he might be less afraid if it were _his_ legs on the line.

The fear only subsides when Vinnie tells him they’re even. Abed heads back to the apartment while Troy drives Annie around to search for Jeff, who they find collapsed on the side of the road, shirtless and disoriented. Annie helps him into the backseat and Troy wrinkles his nose. Jeff sort of smells like a gutter, and Troy feels bad for Annie as Jeff clings to her, softly weeping while she pats his back and murmurs soothing words. Troy feels like the most awkward chauffer in the world, trying not to look at them in his review mirror as he takes them back to Jeff’s place.

Once he drops them off, he’s looking forward to settling in next to Abed to watch some reruns and try to forget this day ever happened. But then he nearly has a heart attack when he walks into the apartment to see Abed with his leg in a cast, like some manifestation of Troy’s worst fears.

And even the relief he feels when he finds out Abed’s leg isn’t really broken is swiftly overtaken by fury when he realizes that Annie was right, and their swooping in to save him has clearly prevented Abed from learning his lesson, because in addition to Patch Adams, there’s several more impersonators in the blanket fort. One of them is even wearing Troy’s Reggie costume, which makes for an awkward few minutes after Troy kicks the rest out and the man has to change out of it in the bathroom.

Troy goes to the blanket fort once he gets the costume back. Letting the entrance fall shut behind him, he looks down at the navy fabric clutched in his first. He feels a new wave of rage burn through him, mixed with a sting of something else he can’t quite define. He balls the costume up and throws it in the general direction of the dresser, resisting the urge to kick the bedframe, or scream, or do something similarly noisy that would draw the attention of Abed, who’s peacefully watching TV in the living room, the _bastard_.

Taking a few deep breaths, Troy removes the Michael Jackson outfit and puts on something more normal. He glances at the Reggie costume, crumpled on the floor, and sighs, folding it neatly and setting it in a drawer.

Abed comes in after an undetermined amount of time that Troy spends sitting on the floor in front of his desk with knees tucked up to his chest, glaring into the middle distance. Abed sits on the bed, wringing his hands.

“Are you mad at me?” Abed asks.

It’s a wonder he noticed, Troy thinks. “No,” he says, and immediately regrets it. It’s not fair of him. Abed can’t fix a problem he doesn’t know about.

As expected, Abed takes his answer at face-value, his shoulders lowering even as Troy feels a pang of guilt. “Cool. I was gonna go in the Dreamatorium and play _Inspector Spacetime_.”

“Have fun,” Troy says. Abed’s fingers curl into a fist and his features draw in. It’s a face Troy’s seen him make before when watching conversations with frustrating amounts of emotional nuance, except this time Troy’s not explaining it to him. But he still gets up to leave.

Troy could just let him go. They could just go on pretending this never happened. Troy could stuff his anger down this time, and he probably could the next time, or the time after, when something like this happens again, and things could be fine forever, probably, so long as they never talk about it.

Except Troy knows how that story ends. He had a front row seat for it growing up, watching his mom bite her tongue during every argument with his dad, holding back and bottling up twenty years of frustration until it exploded so catastrophically that it took their whole marriage down with it. And Troy doesn’t want that, not with Abed.

He shuts his eyes, steeling himself. “Abed,” he calls. “Come here.”

Abed returns to stand in front of him, head tilted.

“I am mad at you,” Troy admits.

Abed’s eyes widen, a familiar look of change-associated panic beginning to seep in. “You said you weren’t. We never lie.”

He may still be mad, but that doesn’t stop Troy’s guts from twisting together. “I know.”

“We made a deal,” Abed continues, pointing a finger at him. He looks up and to the side as he accesses a memory. “October fifteenth, two thousand and nine: Friends don’t lie to each other.”

The roiling in Troy’s stomach feels like it’s about to boil over. “I know!” He shouts, and that’s enough to snap Abed out of it. He looks at Troy in betrayal and confusion. “I lied, ‘cause you don’t like people who tell you what to do, and I don’t want to be one of those people.”

“Then don’t be,” Abed says, like it’s that simple.

“I have to be! You have to stop renting celebrity impersonators. Vinnie was gonna break both of your legs, if we didn’t pull it off tonight.” Troy laughs, humorless. “And then I come home and not only did you rent, like, five more of them, but there’s some other dude in my Reggie costume.”

“Well, it’s not like you’ve wanted to be Reggie much lately,” Abed counters. It comes off blithe, but Troy can sense the hint of challenge behind it.

“Oh, so now it’s _my_ fault?”

“I didn’t say that. I’m explaining.” That’s not a no, but Troy elects to ignore it for now. “It didn’t seem like you wanted to play with me anymore, so I found people who did. I don’t understand why you’re so mad.”

Not for the first time today, Troy wants to cry. “Because I was really, really scared for you, Abed.” His voice wobbles, so he swallows. “And I had to work really hard to help you!”

“But that’s what you wanted to do,” Abed says, pointing at him.

“Yes.”

He turns his finger to point at himself. “But I can’t do what I want to do?”

“I guess not!” Troy says, throwing his hands in the air. “Not all the time. Sometimes you’re just gonna have to trust that I know better about stuff.”

Abed frowns. “I don’t know if I can do that.”

Troy sighs. “Then you’re gonna have to trust... That you’re gonna have to trust me.”

Abed stares at him for a long moment, thinking it over. “Well,” he says, carefully, “I don’t want to stop being your friend, so... I guess I’ll let you tell me what to do sometimes. Still best friends?”

Troy laughs, breathless with the relief that they managed to have a fight without it leading to a divorce. “Yeah,” he grins, standing up. “Still best friends. Always.”

“Cool,” Abed says. “Cool cool cool.” He’s not smiling back, but that doesn’t always mean anything.

Troy thinks back to the part of their argument that he never really addressed. “Still wanna go to the Dreamatorium?” He offers.

“Oh,” Abed says, blinking. “Yeah, but I think I’m gonna play by myself right now, if that’s okay.”

Troy deflates, but tries not to let it show. “Cool, okay.” This should be the best possible outcome. He would’ve joined Abed, of course, but the thought of going in the Dreamatorium still sort of makes him want to crawl under a table. He just doesn’t understand why he feels like he’s been kicked.

“Cool,” Abed says, turning away and failing to notice when Troy tries to go in for their handshake.

Troy just stands there, hands in place, even as the door to the Dreamatorium shuts behind Abed. He has a new mental concept of the phrase “left hanging”, and it’s an image of himself dangling from a tightrope stretched between two dizzyingly tall buildings, filled with dread and vertigo as he swings around in the wind, staring at the street far below.

**

The war happening isn’t much of a surprise, after all of that. It’s a surprise how far it gets blown out of proportion, sure, but whatever’s going on with them didn’t really feel resolved, and now Troy’s mad all over again. He’s mad that Abed was given a chance to trust that Troy knew best about something and _still_ didn’t do it, even though he said he would. He’s mad that he’s always the sidekick, and even more mad that he never seems to mind it, that he follows Abed around like he hung the moon, always doing whatever he wants. He’s mad that he chose watching TV with Abed as his life’s purpose over _two_ lucrative career opportunities, and Abed so stubbornly clung to his artistic vision that he wouldn’t add blankets to the fort, even with a world record on the line, when he should have just done it because Troy asked him to. So Troy’s mad about a lot of stuff, including some things he doesn’t even know how to articulate, and the list just keeps getting longer, now including that _fucking_ email.

Troy takes advantage of a commercial break during the _Ski, Shoot, Sing_ cease-fire to use the bathroom. He’s washing his hands when the door creaks open, and there’s Abed, standing frozen as they make eye contact through the mirror.

Troy looks away first, shutting off the water. “Don’t worry, I’m not crying in here.” Shaking his hands dry, he turns around to glare at Abed. “I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable with my emotional frailty.”

Abed narrows his eyes. “I doubt I’d even notice if you were. You know, because of my mental issues.”

Throat burning, Troy spits, “Hey, you’re the one who started it, dick.”

“Regardless of who started it,” Abed says, coolly, “I intend to be the one to finish it.”

“We’ll see,” Troy says, crossing his arms.

They just stand there, staring at each other, and it feels so surreal, so wrong, because Troy’s never been this angry at anyone before, and he never would have imagined that it would be Abed on the receiving end of it. And the worst part, is that even as his blood boils inside his heart, it’s all Troy can do to keep from kissing him.

“Did it mean nothing to you?” Troy asks, finally, because he can’t _not_.

Abed tilts his head and looks at him, like he’s confused, like he has no idea what Troy’s talking about, and that’s _it_.

“You know what? Never mind,” Troy says, and he’s laughing, even though he kind of wants to break his hand on the tile. “I don’t care. It doesn’t matter. It’s not like it meant anything to me, anyway.”

At that, Abed looks like he’s been slapped, and Troy thinks, _Good_ , before turning on his heel and storming out of the bathroom.

*

The magic friendship hats work. They work all the way home. They work through four episodes of _Inspector Spacetime_ and two bowls of Lucky Charms.

Troy goes to brush his teeth, and when he enters the blanket fort, Abed’s already laying on the top bunk, facing away from him. Troy only pauses for a moment before settling on the bottom bunk.

It makes sense that they would have to take the friendship hats off to sleep.

**

Troy doesn’t kiss Britta after their first date at Señor Kevin’s. He’s pretty sure that’s what you’re supposed to do after first dates, although his experience is admittedly limited. Aside from that girl Annie helped him with freshman year, there hasn’t really been anyone else he’s taken on a proper date, unless you count that time he and Abed dined and dashed at that fancy restaurant.

So rather than kissing her, he ends the date by telling off that waiter who hates _Die Hard_ so much, because Abed would want him to, and they get chased out of the restaurant. Britta seems to find the whole thing funny, laughing as she drags him along behind her. And she says they should do it again sometime, so it must not have been too bad.

They start hanging out more after that. Sometimes Britta just comes over to join Troy, Annie, and Abed for movie night, and that feels like pretty standard friend stuff, save for the fact that she usually ends up snuggled under Troy’s arm when they share his chair. Other times they go out just the two of them, and those feel more like dates. Britta takes him to coffee shops just to talk for a few hours, or to a bar to play darts.

Once, she asks him to go with her to this art gallery opening. They dress up nice for it, Troy in a blazer and Britta in that red dress she wore to the Valentine’s Day dance a few years ago. He tells her she looks beautiful, because she does, and she smiles shyly before taking his hand.

The gallery is... Interesting, filled with sculptures made out of stuff the artist found in a junkyard. The point of it goes over Troy’s head, even though Britta tries to explain that it’s a “comment on consumerism.” He just sips his free glass of no-no juice and nods like he understands.

At the end of the night he walks her to the door of her building. She pauses instead of punching in the code, then turns to him with uncharacteristic nervousness. “What are we doing, Troy?” She asks.

He raises a brow. “I’m dropping you off?” He’s pretty sure he only saw her have two drinks, but now he’s starting to question it.

She laughs. “No, I know. I mean...” She rests her hand on his arm, then slowly slides it down until she holds his hand. “I like you. As more than a friend.”

“I like you, too,” Troy says, and she grins at him, squeezing his hand.

“Then what do you want this to be? Like, do you want to be boyfriend and girlfriend, or...?”

“I don’t know,” he says. Then he winces, because that definitely wasn’t what he was supposed to say. But Britta doesn’t seem mad, so he tries again. “I mean, it’s not that I don’t want to,” he explains. “I just... I really like you, but being your friend is also really important to me, and I wouldn’t wanna mess that up. So, if we’re gonna do this— be in a relationship— I wanna be sure it’s gonna work, you know?”

“Yeah, that makes sense.” She nods, thoughtful. “How about this? Let’s just hang out, get to know each other better, and we can see how we feel at the end of the semester. Sound good?”

“Sounds good,” Troy says, and he feels about ten pounds lighter. If this were Abed, they would do their handshake now. He has to resist the urge to put his hands up.

“Of course, that means that we probably shouldn’t have sex,” Britta muses.

Troy didn’t even know sex was on the table until it was taken off, so he tries not to feel too disappointed. “You’re really cool, Britta,” he says.

She smiles, warm. “And you’re the nicest guy I’ve ever gone out with.”

He laughs. “That’s a really low bar.”

Smacking him on the shoulder, she tilts her head towards the door. “Wanna come up? I have a joint.”

Troy hasn’t smoked since high school, a fact that becomes apparent when he takes his first drag off the joint and immediately coughs up one of his lungs. Britta laughs at him, but goes to get him a glass of water and pats his back while he recovers.

It isn’t long before the joint is gone and the two of them are slumped on Britta’s couch, giggling and taking turns squirting whipped cream from a can directly into their mouths.

“D’you know I only buy this stuff to do this with?” Britta asks him, voice muffled with whipped cream. She swallows, then says, clearer, “I don’t think I’ve ever actually put it on anything.”

“And why would you need to?” Troy asks, very seriously. Then he squirts a little on his nose and tries to lick it off.

The can only makes a hissing sound the next time Britta tries to press the nozzle, so she sets it on the coffee table before turning to face Troy. “How’re you and Abed doing?” She asks. “You know, after the war? We never really talked about that.”

“We put on the magic friendship hats,” Troy says. “We’re fine.”

“Okay, yeah.” Waving a hand in the air, she says, “The hats. But I mean, really, how are things?”

He sighs. “Dunno. It’s fine, mostly. But sometimes... It’s like he’s farther away than he used to be. Even when he’s right there.”

“Did you ever talk about what happened, after the hats?” She asks in what he recognizes as her therapist voice. And even though everyone always gives her shit about her psych major, she’s actually really good to talk to about serious stuff, so Troy decides to not brush it off.

“No,” he admits. “And it feels like nothing ever happened so much of the time that I don’t even know how I would. Like, what if I bring it up and we just start fighting again, and then the hats stop working? I don’t think Greendale can afford any more post-war cleanup.”

“I know it’s hard, Troy,” she begins, resting a hand on his knee, “but you’re going to have to, eventually. Unresolved conflict only causes more problems later on. And what you and Abed have is so special, I would hate for this to ruin it.”

Troy feels that familiar terror clawing up his throat, the feeling he hasn’t felt since the war ended, the one he only gets when confronted with the possibility of a life without Abed. Tears prickle behind his eyes and he tries to hold them back, because he _hates_ that he’s going to cry about it, but he still sounds choked up when he says, “I can’t lose him, Britta, I just can’t. He’s my best friend and my favorite person and I—” Damn it, now he’s really crying. “I don’t know who I’d be, without him.”

At that, he starts full-on sobbing, and Britta pulls him into her arms. He’d feel bad about getting his tears all over her nice dress, but it sort of reeks of weed already, so it’s probably due for a wash, anyway. “Troy, honey, I know,” she soothes, hugging him tighter. “You two are like soulmates, you know? Platonic soulmates. I’m sure he feels the same about you. You’re gonna work this out.”

He lets her comfort him, figuring he’ll have the wherewithal to feel embarrassed about this tomorrow and he can text her to apologize then. But for now, he just really, really hopes she’s right.

*

Abed’s still up when he gets home, hunched over his laptop at the table. Troy hopes he can’t smell the weed on him.

Abed slides his headphones off but doesn’t look up from whatever he’s working on. “How’s Britta?” He asks.

“She’s good,” Troy says.

Pressing his lips together, Abed shuts his laptop. “You’ve been seeing her a lot.”

Troy shrugs off his jacket, sitting in a chair across from Abed. “I thought you said you didn’t have a problem with it.”

“I said that the two of you pursuing a romantic relationship wouldn’t negatively alter the group dynamic,” Abed corrects.

Troy squints at him. He’s way too high to properly navigate this kind of conversation, so he decides to just get to the point. “So, do you have a problem with it?”

Staring at him blankly, Abed doesn’t say anything for a while. “Are you dating?” He asks, eventually.

Shaking his head, Troy fiddles with the button on his sleeve, remembering the soft kiss Britta pressed to his cheek before he left. “Nah, not yet. We’re still figuring things out.”

“What is there to figure out?” Abed tilts his head. “You like her, she likes you. It should be simple now.”

“I just...” Troy shrugs. “I don’t know. I want to be sure it’s the right thing to do.”

“Huh,” Abed says, mulling it over. “And how would you know if it is?”

“What do you think I should do?” Troy counters.

Abed looks at him for a long time. Troy realizes he’s holding his breath, and tries consciously to let it out. When Abed speaks, his voice is softer, with a tone Troy struggles to place. “I don’t think that matters.”

** 

He dreams about Abed, in the AC repair school barracks. It’s technically a dormitory, but it looks so much like how army barracks look in movies that that’s how Troy refers to it in his head. Twelve of them sleep in one room together, in six bunk beds all lined up. It feels like a mockery of his former life.

In the dream he has about Abed, they’re running from something. He can never see what it is because it’s always dark, but he knows it’s something bad because he always wakes up terrified. He’s had some variation or another of this dream recurring since sophomore year. When he lived in the apartment, he would wake up with Abed’s arms around him and immediately know everything was okay.

Now, he wakes up alone, with only his bunkmate Kyle’s snoring to remind him where he is. He’s also been waking up crying, likely because the dream’s ending has been different lately. He’ll glance over his shoulder to see if Abed’s still following him, but he isn’t, and no matter how much he wants to, he can’t seem to make himself stop running to go back for him. 

He tries to calm his racing heart by reminding himself that he would never just abandon Abed like that. It’s a hollow reassurance, considering that he already has.

*

After he finishes carrying the last of his things back into the apartment, he finds Abed standing in the Dreamatorium, hands in pockets, looking critically at the walls. It shouldn’t surprise Troy anymore, the weight of just how much he missed Abed, but it keeps bowling him over every time he looks at him. It was like missing a limb. (Which feels extra ironic now, considering what Abed almost did to Jeff.)

Abed looks up at him when he comes in, smiling slightly before his features take on a more serious expression. “I think we have to take down the Dreamatorium.”

“What?” Troy says, dismayed. “Why?”

“Because that’s how Evil Abed got in,” Abed explains. “He made Britta cry, and Jeff almost lost an arm. We can’t risk anything like that happening again.”

Abed was blasé the first time he told him about meeting Evil Abed, but now he seems scared. He keeps glancing at the corner of the room, like he expects Evil Abed to be there waiting for him. Troy softens. “You’re right. I’m gonna miss it, though,” he sighs. “We had some good times in here.”

“We did,” Abed says, clearing his throat. “Have I ever told you my theory about the timelines?”

“No. What is it?”

“On the night of our housewarming,” Abed begins, spreading his fingers in the air as he sets the scene, “Jeff rolled a die to determine who would go get the pizza, creating the split that turned our singular timeline into seven. In our timeline, the prime timeline, I stopped Jeff from rolling the die and he had to go get the pizza, while in the other six timelines, another member of the study group was the one had to get it. My theory is that the events that transpired when each member was absent are a sort of small-scale model of what the group would be like, in general, if that person left the group permanently.”

“So Jeff leaves, and we all have a dance party without him?” Troy frowns. “That’s kinda sad.”

“Eh.” Abed waves him off. “I look at that as more of an example of how Jeff needs the rest of us more than we need him, even if he’d never admit it. But I digress.” He tilts his head. “What have I told you about the darkest timeline?”

Troy shrugs. “Not much, other than that we’re evil in it.”

“Well, we’re evil in it because Annie had a gun in her purse that went off and shot Pierce in the leg,” Abed tells him, and Troy’s eyebrows shoot up. “He bled out all over me, Annie, and Shirley, and then Britta accidentally started a fire that burned off Jeff’s arm when he tried to put it out, hence the whole Evil Abed trying to cut off our Jeff’s arm with a bone saw thing. Oh, and you swallowed the troll that Pierce brought as a gift while it was on fire.”

“Because that’s the only way to destroy a troll,” Troy sniffs.

“Right,” Abed agrees. “Except now you have permanent throat damage.”

Shuddering, Troy says, gravely, “A sacrifice that had to be made.”

“Anyway,” Abed continues, “Annie went insane with the guilt and ended up in an asylum, Shirley became a drunk, and I decided go lean into the darkness of it all by turning us evil.”

“God,” Troy breathes. “That sounds... Horrible.”

“There’s a reason it’s called the darkest timeline. And do you know who went to get the pizza in that timeline?” Abed pauses, taking a deep breath. “It was you, Troy. Because everything is dark without you. I’ve noticed that I only see Evil Abed when I think you might leave. I saw him after you got mad at me about the impersonators, and I saw him during the war, and then he managed to break free when you went to repair school.”

Troy feels sort of lightheaded. “Abed...”

Abed just keeps going, in the way that he does when he has something scripted in his head and he doesn’t want to lose his place. “I don’t want you to leave me, Troy, because I’m afraid of how I might end up without you. I’m sorry that we fought this year. And I’m sorry about the things I said in that email, but you should know that while those qualities of yours that I listed are weaknesses in battle, they’re also some of the things I like the most about you. Your tendency to over-emote keeps me grounded, and it also makes you one of the few people whose faces I can understand. I realized when you were at repair school that I dislike my life without you so much that I would be willing to do pretty much anything to make sure that you never lose your patience with me.” Troy winces at the word choice. “I’ll let you tell me what to do sometimes. You could tell me what to do all the time and I’d be okay with that, as long as you’re still here.” Swallowing, Abed looks at Troy carefully.

Troy’s breath catches. “I don’t need you to do that, Abed, I just...” The words stick to the inside of his throat, but he tries to force them out anyway. “I’m sorry, too. About those texts that I sent you. I didn’t really mean any of that. I was just really mad at you, and I wanted you to feel as bad as I did, reading that email. I was feeling like I didn’t matter as much to you as you did to me, like me being your sidekick meant I was replaceable, and you’d be doing cool adventures even if I wasn’t there. When really, I’m lucky to even get to be your sidekick, because it makes my life so much more awesome, just getting to be around you.”

Abed gives him a look, similar to the looks other people give Troy when he says the wrong word on accident. “But you’re not my sidekick,” Abed says, and he seems so genuinely confused that Troy can’t help but believe him. “If anything, you’d be the protagonist. You’re popular, neurotypical, and now you’re a literal chosen one. Your life is like a young adult novel waiting to happen. And I may do some things on my own, sometimes, but I never had epic, A-plot worthy adventures until I met you. You’re the only person who’s ever made me feel like I could be the protagonist of my own life. Troy, you’re completely irreplaceable.”

Troy, feeling tears well up in his eyes, can do nothing in response other than throw his arms around Abed, crying into his neck. Abed wraps one arm around Troy’s back, bringing the other up to cradle the back of his head. “What’s wrong? Did I say the wrong thing?” Abed asks, a bit panicked.

“No, no,” Troy sobs. “You said exactly the _right_ thing, Abed, I just...” He grabs the back of Abed’s hoodie in his fist and smooshes his face harder against Abed’s pulse point, thinking that if he could somehow phase into Abed’s body and live the rest of his life in there, he would.

Abed inhales sharply. “Oh,” he says, faintly.

“I missed you so much, man,” Troy murmurs, lips brushing against the warm skin of Abed’s neck. Abed trembles. Worrying this is one of those times when the physical contact is too much, Troy pulls back. Abed only lets him go so far, though, holding Troy by his upper arms.

“I missed you, too,” Abed says. His eyes are as gentle as ever, but now they look molten, somehow. “Troy... Have you decided whether you want to date Britta yet?”

“I don’t know,” Troy says. “We were supposed to figure it out when the semester ended, but then repair school happened, and we haven’t gotten a chance to talk about it yet.”

Abed releases him suddenly, stepping away. It’s as though Troy said his lines wrong and the director called cut. The scene’s over, clapperboard slamming shut in front of Abed’s face.

“Well,” Abed says, stiff, “in the event that you do date Britta, the Dreamatorium should be your new bedroom. So the two of you can have some privacy.”

The gut punch feeling of the words makes Troy want to double over. “Is that what you want?” He asks.

“It’s the next logical step of your character development,” Abed shrugs. “You get a girlfriend; you get your own room.”

Troy searches Abed’s face, finding it infuriatingly blank. “Well, maybe I should just go ask her to be my girlfriend right now.”

He swears he sees Abed’s eye twitch. “Cool,” Abed says, terse.

“Yeah, cool.” He’s angry, and he’s waiting for something, and he doesn’t get it, because he thought they just resolved everything. And now his brain is crying.

Abed breaks eye contact first, going to the door. “Well, don’t let me keep you,” he says, and then Troy is alone in his new bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The angst, as promised. Just know that this hurts me as much, if not more, to write than it hurts you to read. I swear this fic will have a happy ending, though. I’m not in the business of leaving people sad. 
> 
> The quote from Troy’s English teacher at the beginning of the chapter, “There are a million tiny ways we can betray each other,” is actually a real-life quote from a creative writing professor I had. I always thought that was a pretty raw line for him to ad-lib like that, so I’m glad I got to include it in some of my writing!
> 
> Another important note is that “Like a Staring Contest” by The Future Kings of Nowhere is THE Trobed Pillows and Blankets song. (You can find it on the [Trobed Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2NCPlUeNDgmsk6Ha2C2duw?si=k61y45M1RcmtClKvGFd5bg) I made.) I listened to it a lot when writing this chapter, because OUCH.
> 
> Again, thank you all so much for reading and commenting! I hope you’re still enjoying this fic, even as I take it to a somewhat darker place. Let me know your thoughts on this chapter!


	8. Chapter 8

By the time fall rolls around, sex with Britta has gotten really good.

Which isn’t to say it was bad before. The first month after they made it official they had good sex, although it was pretty standard, according to Troy’s experience. But hey, Troy’s never met an orgasm he didn’t like, and Britta seemed to be enjoying herself, so he called it a win.

Then one night, after some perfectly acceptable sex, Britta asked him if he had anything different he wanted to try out. When he asked her what she meant, she said, “You know, any kinks?” Troy balked at that, stammering, and she put a hand on his arm. “Relax,” she said, “I’m not going to judge you, if that’s what you’re worried about. Plus, I’m pretty much open to anything, so...” She shrugged.

“I, um.” Troy bit his lip, tried not to think of other things he’d done in this room before it was his bedroom. “I like being held down, sometimes,” he mumbled.

Britta smiled and kissed him. “I can work with that.”

The next time Britta came over she pulled a pair of handcuffs out of her bag. Troy was skeptical at first, but twenty minutes later he was straining against the cuffs as Britta rode him and he came (heh) to the conclusion that she was a genius.

With that initial hurdle passed, Troy started asking her to try other things. He got a near-instant boner when she put a hand on his throat once, and soon after she was regularly wrapping her hands around his neck during sex. There was some brief confusion when Britta assumed _he_ wanted to do stuff to _her_ butt, but she took it in stride when he corrected her and instead made a trip to the Dildopolis in Annie’s old neighborhood. _That_ was an amazing night.

So, while he wouldn’t call anything they’ve tried particularly depraved (although he’s sure Shirley would disagree, which is why she will never, _ever_ hear about it), he thinks he might understand Pierce’s indoor playground a bit better now.

Another thing he’s learned is that Britta loves pillow talk. She said something once about physical intimacy opening the door to emotional intimacy, which essentially means she likes to talk about deep stuff after they do it. He’s heard a lot about her exes, her politics, and her parents, and while Troy doesn’t think he has any tragic backstory to reveal, she seemed interested in even the mundane aspects of his childhood. He does feel closer to her, though, so she might have a point.

After a night of particularly awesome sex, she’s laying on his chest and telling him about some camping trip she took when she was in high school. He’s only half listening, content to just let her ramble. She finishes her story and then says, “Hey, Troy?”

“Yeah?”

“Have you ever had sex with a man?” It’s not an accusation. She asks the question as casually ask she asked him what his favorite flavor of ice cream was, like his answer carries no weight either way.

“Wait, what? Why—” He splutters. “Why would you ask me that?”

She pushes herself up to look at him. “No reason!” she soothes. “I was just... curious. You don’t have to answer.”

He sits up, crossing his legs. “No, I...” He sighs. “Yeah. Yeah, I have.”

He looks at her apprehensively, but she doesn’t seem very shocked, or appalled. “Oh,” she says. “Cool. Do you want to tell me about it?”

He takes a deep breath. “Well, I got drunk at a party once in high school and kissed Brandon Carlisle in a bathroom. But we didn’t have sex, and we also pretended it never happened, so...” He’s never told anyone that before. His throat is dry. “And then there was paintball second year, when I kissed Abed.” And again, in a motel pool, he doesn’t add.

“You did?” Britta seems more surprised at that than at hearing he fucked a dude.

“Yeah, but it was for a _Star Wars_ bit we were doing,” he explains. “He was Han and I was Leia.”

She nods slowly. “Right. And did the two of you...?”

Troy’s skin feels tight. “No, of course not,” he says, and it’s technically not a lie, because that was Reggie and the Inspector, not him and Abed. “The guy I had sex with was, um, a dude from our rival school, in the locker rooms. You know, post-game adrenaline. We didn’t do butt stuff but there was some dick touching involved.” (Okay, that one was a lie. Troy’s not a saint.)

“Does anyone else know about this?” She asks. He shakes his head.

“No. Not even Abed.” (Half-true, Abed doesn’t know about Brandon.) “Look, I’m... I’m not gay.”

“I never said you were,” she laughs. “But I mean, having sex with another man is a little gay, though, Troy.”

He frowns. “I’m not gay! ‘Cause I like having sex with girls. I like having sex with you. Messing around a little doesn’t mean I’m gonna go start a _Queer Eye_ reboot or anything, you know.”

She stops laughing. “Troy, hey, come on.” He turns his head away, cheeks burning. “I get it, I know you still like girls. I, um.” She clears her throat, picking at a loose thread on his comforter. “I actually like girls, too.”

He looks back to her, mouth open. “Why are you having sex with me, then? You know I’m a dude, right? You’ve seen my dick.”

She rolls her eyes. “The two aren’t mutually exclusive, Troy.” He gives her a blank look. “Which means, I like having sex with men _and_ women.”

This is seriously wrinkling his brain. “That’s a thing that can happen?”

“Human sexuality is a spectrum,” she explains. “We learned about it in one of my psych classes. Sometimes people fall in the middle, like me. Or the Dean.”

Troy gasps. “Wait, the Dean? I thought he only liked Jeff. And spotted dogs.”

Britta smirks. “He certainly does like Jeff, doesn’t he? It’s kind of fun to watch, actually,” she snickers. “But that’s not all he likes. He tried to explain it to me once, but I don’t think I really understood.”

“Huh,” he says. “Do you think _I_ could be...”

“Bisexual?” The word sends ripples through him. “Maybe. That’s something only you can know for sure.”

He thinks about it, turning the idea over in his mind. “I think I might be.” He looks at her, eyes wide. “Don’t tell the rest of the group, though.”

She covers his hand with her own and smiles sweetly. “Of course not. If you want to tell anyone, you can do it when you’re ready.”

The tension in his shoulders melts. “Cool. Do you want me to keep yours a secret, too?”

She shakes her head. “Nah. I don’t really care. I just tend not to tell people unless it comes up. Jeff knows.”

“What about all those times Pierce called you a lesbian?” He asks, and she grins.

“Honestly? I think it’s hilarious. And I’m waiting to see how long it takes him to figure it out. If he doesn’t by the end of the semester, I’m thinking of casually bringing up my ex-girlfriend and seeing if that’s enough to give him an aneurism.”

They both laugh hard at that, Troy falling back on the bed and Britta laying on top of him. After they calm down, Troy wipes his eyes. “Hey. Thank you.”

She kisses his shoulder. “Of course. And thank you for telling me about it.”

Troy thinks to himself, before drifting off to sleep, that Britta’s really cool, and he really likes spending time with her, and he must be really lucky. He doesn’t think he loves her, though. But he also doesn’t think that matters yet.

**

Troy and Abed are fine.

They’re still best friends. That’s what matters.

They still do their handshake. They still have movie marathons. They still engage in the usual amount of hijinks and shenanigans.

But they don’t hold hands on the way to class anymore, because Troy’s usually holding Britta’s hand. They also don’t wake up wrapped around each other, because Troy has his own room, and because Britta stays over most nights now.

But that doesn’t matter. They’re still best friends.

Troy and Abed are fine.

**

Troy isn’t doing the whole crazy jealous girlfriend thing anymore. As he speed-walks through the _Inspector Spacetime_ convention, he feels more like someone on their way to interrupt a wedding, or someone running to the airport to stop their love interest from getting on a plane, than some jilted lover looking to ruin their ex’s chance at happiness. That’s how he hopes he comes across, at least. He supposes it’s a matter of interpretation.

He should probably also stop using rom coms as metaphors for his friendship with Abed, but he doesn’t know many movies with relationships like theirs and he doesn’t have time to think of any right now. He needs to find Abed first.

Which is proving to be harder than it sounds. The convention is huge, and Toby could have taken him anywhere. Troy’s about two minutes away from barging in to interrupt panels just in case they’re in one of them.

Stopping to catch his breath, he leans against a column and surveys the room. He’s not sure what he’s going to say when he finds Abed. How is he supposed to explain it? _I know I’m with Britta now and you’re cool with that, but I hate the idea of you making another friend so much I won’t let you._ And yeah, okay, maybe he’s still in psycho girlfriend territory. He also feels like he should be apologizing, but he doesn’t know why, or what for.

Then he turns his head towards the time booths and catches sight of a familiar looking bald fuck, leaning up against one of the red boxes and looking extra shifty. Troy makes a beeline for him.

“Toby,” he seethes. Toby looks up at him, eyes widening for a second before they narrow. “Where’s Abed?”

“He’s packing,” Toby replies, smug. “He said you have a girlfriend and don’t need him anymore. He’s coming with me. To England.”

Troy only feels panic bubble up for a second. “You’re lying.”

“How would you know?” Toby sneers.

Troy thinks, at first, that maybe he’s got a point. Because maybe Abed feels about Britta the way Troy felt about Toby. Because there’s a lot of things about Abed that have been off kilter lately, a lot of things that Troy’s left to be unsure about. But then he knows, this is not one of them.

“Because Abed’s my friend,” Troy says, “and he would have told me. And he would have explained it to me in very clear terms, because I get confused sometimes.” And, because he always kind of has a sense for it, he points to the time booth. “He’s in there, isn’t he?”

Toby laughs nervously. “No.”

Then Abed’s muffled voice says, “Hey, Troy.”

“Hey, Abed.” Troy smirks. “Toby, have you ever been in a fight?” He makes a show of cracking his knuckles as he holds up a fist. “Because I have.”

Toby clears out quickly after that, which disappoints some vindictive part of Troy that really, really wanted to punch that guy in the face. He ignores that part, though, because most of the rest of his parts are relieved.

He opens the door to find Abed leaning against the back of the booth with a small smile. “You okay?” he asks, looking him over for any obvious injuries.

“I am,” Abed says. He looks like what most people who are unaccustomed to reading Abed would call quietly happy, but Troy knows he’s overjoyed. “You know, for the first time in my long history of being locked inside things, I knew someone would come.”

Troy’s heart is caught somewhere between a little broken and a lot full. He steps into the booth, letting the door swing shut behind him, and wraps Abed up in a hug, hooking his chin over Abed’s shoulder while Abed puts his arms around his waist.

“I’m sorry,” Troy murmurs.

Abed pulls back enough to look at Troy quizzically. “Why are you sorry?”

“I...” There are a lot of things Troy could be sorry for. He’s sorry bringing Britta presumably drove Abed to meet up with Toby in the first place. He’s sorry he was so crazy and jealous about it, even if Toby ended up being even more of a psycho. He’s sorry something’s shifted between them— like they’re two gears just a millimeter off from each other, something that keeps them from slotting together like they’re supposed to, something that keeps them in separate rooms in separate beds— and he’s sorry that even being the Truest Repairman doesn’t mean he knows how to fix it. All of those things are true, but none of them seem like enough.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there when the Blorgons trapped you in the Time Booth, Inspector,” he settles for, slipping into his British accent.

“Worry not, Reggie,” Abed-as-the-Inspector says. “I know you were busy with Minerva.” He doesn’t sound terribly affected by this, which only serves to tighten the knot in Troy’s stomach.

“Minerva may have required my attention for a moment,” Troy assures him, “But you are still _my_ Inspector. Nothing will ever change that.”

Abed’s eyes crinkle up at that. “That is good to hear, dear Reggie.”

They look at each other for a beat too long and then Troy can’t look away. The air in the booth thickens, the hair on Troy’s arms stands up, and he is reminded of standing on the football field during practice, watching the sky darken. He feels full of static, like he’s waiting for something to strike it with. Abed clears his throat. “Still wanna­—”

Troy kisses him, firm and close-mouthed. Abed makes a small noise of surprise and Troy pulls back. “I, uh...”

Abed draws his eyebrows together, his mouth falling open in a way that is not doing anything to dissuade Troy from kissing him again. He looks like he’s doing algebra in his head. “You—” Abed shakes his head, aborting whatever question he was about to ask, and instead grabs Troy by the back of the neck and leans down to press their lips together.

It’s Troy who has Abed up against a wall this time. Which means that he should feel more in control than he does. It’s like he’s not so much holding Abed there as he is clinging to him, one hand fisted in the front of Abed’s shirt and the other in his hair, boneless against him as Abed coaxes his mouth open.

The hand Abed has on Troy’s jaw slides down until his palm presses into the side of Troy’s neck, digging in until he can feel his own pulse thrumming against it. The pressure is enough to prod at the ache inside him but not enough to soothe it, and Troy pulls Abed’s hair, hard. Abed makes a noise, a rumble that vibrates against Troy’s mouth, then grabs Troy’s ass to pull them flush together.

Now _that’s_ more like it. Now there’s teeth, now there’s nails. Now there’s Abed, sending shocks down Troy’s spine as he rolls his hips. He wants Abed to take him back to his hotel room and fuck him into the mattress. Scratch that, he wants Abed to shove him to his knees right here, right now. In the time booth, moaning into Abed’s open mouth, he wants, he wants, he _wants_.

Someone pounds on the door. “Hey, you alright in there?” A muffled voice calls from outside.

They break apart with a wet sound that shouldn’t be as hot as it is. Dazed, Troy takes in Abed’s mused hair, his swollen lips, his labored breathing. Then he remembers where he is, in the middle of a convention, with a girlfriend waiting for him in the food court, while he pops a boner from making out with his best friend. Taking a hasty step away, Troy’s back hits the door.

“Hello?” The voice calls again. And oh, right, the only reason he doesn’t currently have Abed’s dick in his mouth is because they were interrupted by some poor convention-goer.

“Don’t tell Minerva,” Troy rasps in his British accent, and stumbles out of the booth before he can see how Abed responds.

The main outside looks at him in concern before his gaze shifts to over Troy’s shoulder, where Abed is still standing behind him. The man scowls. “God damnit, every year,” he mutters, jabbing a finger towards a sign nearby that says, “NO SEX IN THE TIME BOOTHS.” Mumbling an apology, Troy drags Abed away by the arm until they’re out of the man’s sight.

Troy chances a glance at Abed, his pounding heart ricocheting around his ribcage. Abed runs a hand through his hair, smoothing it down where Troy’s hands had tangled in it. He looks far more composed than he has any right to be. With a rough swallow, Troy says, “Listen, I—"

“How about that Gluon photo?” Abed interrupts.

“I...” Troy draws his brows together, but Abed just stares back at him, impassive. And that’s familiar enough, in its way. The hard pivot out of character, the blink-and-you’ll-miss-it return to normalcy. The Dreamatorium may be Troy’s bedroom these days, but he still remembers the rules. “Yeah, buddy,” he says, watching some of the tension bleed out of Abed’s jaw. “Let’s do it.” 

*

And so, they don’t talk about it. Instead, they take their picture and return to Britta, who seems oblivious to the way Troy’s shoulders hunch when she gives him a peck on the cheek. Then they meet up with Jeff and Annie. (And Pierce and Shirley, who Troy is surprised to see.) Over dinner, Abed proudly shows them their photo before carefully returning it to his pocket, mouth quirked up into a small smile.

Later that night, Troy lies awake as Britta breathes evenly beside him. He rolls onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow, and looks at her. She’s beautiful. Of course she is, she always has been. But he looks at her, and he tries— really, really tries, digging around in the valves of his heart— to feel it, that spark he knows he’s supposed to feel. He’s loved her for a long time, the same way he loves Jeff, or Annie. If he loves her any differently now, it isn’t like flint striking steel.

And with a sinking feeling, he thinks maybe that matters.

**

“And _that_ is why Joseph McCarthy can eat a big bag of dicks,” Britta says as she points her pen at Shirley from across the table.

“As... _Enlightening_ as that was, Britta,” Shirley says, sweetly, “I’m not sure how much of it will be on tomorrow’s exam.”

“You know, it’s insulting to be taught about something I lived through,” Pierce huffs.

“Weren’t you in elementary school during the Red Scare, Pierce?” Abed asks.

“Yes,” Pierce concedes, “but the syllabus says we’re covering the Vietnam War next week, and I already know all about that.”

“Pierce,” Jeff says, kicking his feet up on the table, “According to what you yourself have told us about your twenties, you were in no way involved in the Vietnam War, and were likely way too high to remember much of it, anyway.”

“Now, Jeffery, I may have moved to Canada for much of the war, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t keep up with the news.”

“Oh, really?” Jeff quirks a brow. “What was the war about, then?”

“Well, the Man was, you know...” Pierce shifts in his seat, looking down at his textbook. “After their oil, or something?”

“That would be a solid guess for any of our country’s more recent wars.” Jeff smirks. “Don’t worry, I’m sure you’re going to kill it when we start talking about free love.”

Annie shuts her notebook, a signal for the rest of them that they’re done for the day. “So, what’s everyone doing this weekend?” After some non-committal mumbling, Annie brightens. “Great! Then make sure you clear your schedules for tomorrow after the exam, because _we_ ,” she says, “are hanging out!”

“Oh, I don’t know, Annie,” Shirley frowns. “Ben’s teething.”

“Shirley,” Annie whines. “Come on. We haven’t done anything outside of school as a group since Thanksgiving, and even that was in the study room. I miss having family time,” she pouts.

Shirley purses her lips. “I suppose Andre can watch the kids. What did you have in mind?”

“I was actually hoping you guys could think of something?” Annie asks, casting hopeful looks around the room.

“We could play tag?” Troy suggests.

Abed raises his eyebrows. “Freeze tag,” he says, pointing a finger at Troy.

Troy gasps. “Outside! ‘Cause there’s snow...”

“Freezing freeze tag!” They say at the same time, then do their handshake.

“We could build an igloo—” Abed starts, but Annie cuts him off.

“No!” She shouts, and Troy and Abed blink at her. “No offense, guys. It’s a great idea, but if we do that you know the whole school’s gonna join in, and I want it to just be us.”

“Fine,” Abed says, jotting something down in his notebook. “That can be next week’s episode.”

“What if we played mini golf?” Jeff says, not looking up from his phone.

Britta smirks at him. “A fan of mini golf, are we, Jeff?”

“What can I say, Britta?” He says, flashing her a winning smile. “Women love mini golf.” When the others throw paper balls at Jeff, Troy crumples up a flier for hat club he got handed in the hall and joins them. “Which means I happen to know a great indoor place!” Jeff shouts over their boos.

“Text the address to the group chat,” Annie tells him. “We’ll meet there at seven.”

“I know you said you wanted family time,” Abed says as everyone starts to pack up, “but I’d like to bring someone, if that’s okay.”

Shrugging, Annie says, “I don’t see why not.”

*

Here’s why not: Troy thought maybe Abed would bring Pavel, or someone from film class. Instead, he brings that girl Rachel, the one he had a rom com moment with at the Sophie B. Hawkins dance.

She’s fine. Pretty cool, even. When she comes by to have dinner with them before they leave, she’s funny, charming, and is the only person Troy’s ever met who can match Abed movie reference for movie reference. Troy kind of hates her.

He normally doesn’t concern himself any of girls Abed has weird, brief connections with. The woman from the Secret Service sophomore year lasted less than a week; just until Joe Biden had to go back to DC. He didn’t pay much attention to Rachel at first either, assuming she was a one night only sort of deal. But now she’s back, and she’s like if someone tried to make Abed a girlfriend in a factory.

Troy spends most of the car ride to the mini golf place glancing at them in the rearview mirror, watching her laugh at Abed’s jokes, and is that her hand on his arm? Maybe he ate too much pizza earlier, but his stomach hurts.

Abed takes her hand when they get there, leading her towards the entrance while Troy and Annie go over to where Jeff and Britta have just pulled in.

“Hey,” Britta says, kissing Troy on the cheek. He smiles at her, but it doesn’t meet his eyes.

“You guys, remember that girl from the dance?” Annie asks, leaning in conspiratorially. “Abed brought her as a date!”

“Oh, she seemed cool! Good for Abed,” Britta says, waving over Pierce and Shirley from across the parking lot.

“Abed? On a date?” Jeff says, incredulous.

Annie smacks him on the chest. “Jeff!”

“What? All I’m saying is that he strikes me as more of a one-night stand kind of guy,” Jeff says. Troy feels sick again. “I don’t know why he’d bother with dates. The man’s got game. I’d congratulate him for it, if I weren’t so jealous.”

Annie smacks him again, but he grins at her toothily and she softens, taking his arm when he offers it. Once Pierce and Shirley join them, the six of them go to wait in line behind Abed and Rachel.

“Jeff Winger!” The man behind the table says once they get to the front of the line. “How’s my favorite customer?”

Sticking his hands in his pockets, Jeff hunches his shoulders. “Doing alright, Randy,” he replies through gritted teeth.

“Did you bring your punch card? If I’m remembering right, you filled it out last time, so this game’s free!” Randy beams.

Everyone turns to look at Jeff at once. “Must’ve left it in my other pants,” Jeff grumbles.

“Well, there’s always next time, huh?” Randy says. “Say, why don’t I give you and your friends half off tonight? As a token of gratitude for all your business.”

Jeff looks at Annie, who has a brow raised at him, and he sighs. “Sounds great, Randy. Thank you.”

Once they have their equipment, Britta nudges him with her club. “ _Women_ sure do love mini golf, don’t they, Jeff?” She teases. Annie snickers behind her hand.

“Shut up, Britta,” Jeff retorts. “ _I’m_ going to be the one who’s laughing when I kick all your sorry asses at this game.”

“We’ll see about that,” Shirley mutters, slinging her club over her shoulder.

As it turns out, Jeff is really, really good at mini golf. Troy guesses it’s a combination of his familiarity with this particular course and his knack for pool, which seems somewhat similar, conceptually. Both use a ball and a stick, at least.

Shirley’s not far behind. Troy can almost feel the competition heating up between them, and he almost worries that the nearby water feature will start to steam and bubble as Jeff lines up his shot, Shirley glaring daggers into his back.

Pierce narrowly misses on his next turn and he curses, resting a hand on his hip. “You should see me play real golf. I’ll take you to the country club, show you all how it’s done.”

Troy tugs on Britta’s sleeve excitedly. “Do you think regular golf courses have regular sized windmills?”

“No, sweetie,” Britta tells him, patting his shoulder in sympathy as he pouts.

Troy and Britta are doing alright for themselves, but it’s Annie, much to her own dismay, who’s struggling the most. She doesn’t even hit the ball on one of her swings and she nearly throws her club into the pond before Jeff grabs onto it, stopping her.

“Annie, come on,” Jeff pleads. “At least let me help you.”

She glares at him long enough that Troy grows concerned she may just whack him in the shins with her club instead, but she eventually relents. “Fine,” she huffs.

Wrapping his arms around him from behind, Jeff tries to guide her into the proper stance. “You put your hands here and here, and bend your knees...” As Jeff shows her how to swing, Troy notices the flush spreading across her cheeks. He somehow doubts Annie’s absorbing any of this.

Bored, he lets his eyes wander to the people he’s been studiously avoiding looking at all night: Abed and Rachel. They’ve been playing along with everyone else, but they seem more wrapped up in flirting with each other than they are invested in the game. Not that Troy cares.

Britta leans next to him against a railing as Annie makes her eight attempt at a shot. “Are you alright?” She asks. “You seem off tonight.”

“I’m fine,” he tells her, knowing she doesn’t know to ask how it’s spelled. She follows his gaze to where Abed and Rachel are playfully sword fighting with their clubs.

“Ah,” she nods, “I see. Is this another Toby situation?” Troy frowns but doesn’t reply. “Well, you for sure don’t have to worry about Abed replacing you with her. Girlfriends are different from best friends. I should know,” she laughs. “We’ve been dating for what, almost six months? And has that affected your relationship with him at all?”

Before Troy can respond, he hears a loud smack from behind him and, as he turns towards it, he’s met with a blinding pain in the corner of his right eye.

“Fuck!” He cries, dropping to his knees and clutching his face.

“Troy! Honey, are you okay?” Britta asks. He tries to look at her as she kneels beside him and everyone else rushes over, but it hurts too much to keep his eyes open.

“Troy, oh my God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to, I swear! I just hit it wrong,” Annie babbles.

“Move,” he hears Abed say, and then Troy’s hands are being gently removed from his face. “He’s bleeding.” Troy feels Abed’s thumb stroke delicately under his eye, wiping away a tear. “Where does it hurt?”

“My eye, and my nose,” Troy says, wincing as Abed prods gently at the bridge of it.

“It might be broken, if it’s bleeding like that,” Annie says. “Oh, God, _Troy_...”

“Can you open your right eye for me?” Abed asks.

Grimacing at the pain, Troy forces his eye open to reveal a fuzzy image of Abed. “It hurts,” he whines.

“I know,” Abed murmurs, squeezing his hand. Then, louder, “It looks red. Can you see out of it?”

“Kinda? It’s blurry.”

Abed clicks his tongue. “That’s it. Annie, you’re driving me and Troy to the hospital. Jeff and Britta, you can take Rachel home,”

“But—” Britta says.

“No buts,” Abed tells her, stern. “Can you walk?” He asks Troy.

“If I say no, will you carry me?” Troy half-jokes.

The next thing Troy knows, he’s in Abed’s arms, bridal style. His stomach swoops out from under him as he instinctually wraps his arms around Abed’s neck. Giving the rest of the group a curt nod, Abed says, “Let’s go, Annie.”

*

Troy’s nose isn’t broken. The doctor takes an X-ray and shines a bunch of lights in his eyes before concluding that he’s going to be fine. He’ll just have a nasty bruise.

The doctor also suggests ice, so Annie pulls a bag of frozen peas out of the freezer when they get home. Abed places it carefully on Troy’s face after he lays him down on the couch, cradling his head in his lap.

“I know you told me to stop apologizing, but I’m still really, really sorry,” Annie says, twisting her hands together. “I’ll bake you cupcakes tomorrow.”

“It was an accident, Annie. Seriously, try not to feel too bad about it.” She tries to smile at him, but it comes off as more of a grimace. “But that sounds great. Thanks.”

After she says her goodnights, Troy sighs. “This sucks,” he complains. “I can’t even watch TV.”

“I could narrate it for you,” Abed suggests. “Or we could watch something you’ve seen a bunch of times, so you can just picture it in your head.”

“Maybe.” Troy groans. “Everyone’s gonna ask me what happened on Monday, and I can’t even tell them that they should see the other guy, ‘cause the other guy’s a golf ball.” He pauses for a moment, thinking. “I could just wear an eyepatch.”

“If you do, we can both dress like pirates for the week and no one will question it.” Abed strokes Troy’s forehead absently. “It’s foolproof.”

“Hell yeah, dude. Let’s do it.”

“Cool. Cool cool cool,” Abed says. “How about _Heathers_? You’ve seen that one a lot.”

“Only if you pause to it to tell me the behind the scenes stuff,” Troy requests.

Maybe it’s the movie, or Abed’s soothing monotone rattling off facts about Winona Ryder’s career while his thumb rubs circles into Troy’s shoulder. Or maybe it’s just that Troy hasn’t drifted off on top of Abed in months, (and that if he’s being honest, no amount of pillows or blankets or girlfriends could replicate the feeling of warmth and security brought by Abed’s bony frame) but it isn’t long before Troy slips into a more peaceful sleep than he’s had in a long time.

**

They do manage to play freezing freeze tag, eventually. And, in typical Greendale fashion, it has spun wildly out of control.

It started when people realized there was nothing against hiding in the posted rules. After that, it was less a game of people frolicking around in the snow and more a game of avoiding the small gang of “IT” students patrolling campus, praying that if they found you, they wouldn’t tag you someplace too out of the way. They had remembered, after all, to include “The frozen don’t speak” as rule number four.

Troy and Abed waited until the dead of night to create their hideout. They dug a burrow into the massive snowdrift in the corner of the parking lot, large enough to create a cozy chamber for the two of them while still remaining invisible from the outside.

It was a good thing they stocked up on snacks from the vending machine earlier. All they have to do is evade the “IT” students for another fourteen hours and they win.

Unwrapping a Kit Kat bar as quietly as he can, Abed splits it in two and gives half to Troy, their hands fumbling together in the dark. “Thanks, man,” Troy whispers.

Abed hums, munching on his half. After he swallows, he asks, “Why didn’t you team up with Britta?”

Troy frowns. “This was our idea. And we always team up together.”

“There is precedent for that,” Abed agrees. “But, there’s also precedent for couples teaming up in our genre episodes. Jeff and Britta, freshman year paintball, for example. Or Jeff and Annie now. They joined the “IT” together.”

Troy sort of wishes he could see Abed’s face right now, but he’s also glad for the darkness. It makes everything feel a bit more removed. Taking a deep breath, he says, “I think I might need to break up with Britta.”

“Oh,” Abed says. He’s quiet for a while, long enough that the quiet starts to seem loud. “Why?”

Troy shrugs before remembering that Abed can’t see it. “I don’t know. I don’t think I... Well, I’m supposed to be excited about it, right? But it’s like, it feels like I’m trying too hard and at the same time, I’m not excited about it. Like, I’m doing what I’m supposed to be doing, but I don’t know if it’s what I want, really.”

“Huh.” He feels Abed shift next to him. “You should break up with her, then.”

Troy laughs, nervous. “What, aren’t you gonna say something about how I’ll damage the fabric of the group if I do? Shouldn’t we be planning a way to fake my death or something?”

“Britta’s a grown woman,” Abed counters. “And while we may not always give her the credit, she’s reasonable. If you explain how you feel, no miscommunication trope, she’ll be okay.”

“You’re probably right,” Troy sighs. “I just don’t want to hurt her.”

“I know. But you’ll hurt her more by dragging it out.” Troy doesn’t say anything to that, instead adjusting one of his gloves. “Besides, she’s not your endgame,” Abed adds.

Before Troy can ask him the question burning at the tip of his tongue, crunching footsteps come from outside. Troy reaches for Abed’s hand and squeezes tight. The two are still, barely breathing, just listening.

The footsteps get louder until they come to a stop. “What is it?” The voice (Jeff, Troy realizes) sounds far away.

“Nothing,” Annie says, and she’s a lot closer. Right outside. Troy can feel Abed’s hand twitch. “I thought I heard something, but the cars are all empty.”

“Let’s get going then,” Jeff calls. “We have to meet up with Magnitude’s patrol soon.”

“Alright,” Annie replies, making a sound like she’s kicking the snow nearby. Her footsteps begin to retreat. “God, I’m cold,” she complains.

“I can think of a few ways to warm up,” Jeff says, suggestive.

“Jeff!” Troy hears a faint thump. “Focus. I want to win this thing.”

“Alright, alright,” Jeff grumbles, and two sets of footsteps begin to fade away.

Troy and Abed let out a breath in tandem once they’re completely gone.

“Close one,” Abed whispers. He doesn’t let go of Troy’s hand.

**

After they finish up checking over Pierce’s work on their history banners (which is surprisingly amazing, who would have thought) Britta keeps him from leaving with the others. She looks at him, eyes big and watery, but she’s smiling a little, and Troy feels a twinge of guilt as she pulls him in for a hug.

“I care about you a lot, you know?” Troy says, choked up. It’s not fair of him to cry, he knows. He’s not the one who got dumped.

“I know,” Britta mumbles into his shoulder. “I care about you, too.” She pulls back, smile seeming less sad now. “I might need a little time, but we should still hang out. I do think we would be better as friends.”

Troy grins at her, wiping his eyes. “Definitely,” he says. “Just let me know.”

With one more quick hug, she leaves. Troy just stands there, staring after her for a moment, not sure how to feel. Then Abed pokes his head through the doorway.

“Ready to go?” Abed asks.

“Yeah,” Troy says, hooking his thumbs in the straps of his backpack and following Abed out. “Where’s Annie?”

“She went with Britta.”

Troy sighs, relieved. “That’s good. She could probably use someone right now.”

“That reminds me,” Abed says as they near the car, “can we stop by the store on the way home? I need to run in and buy something.”

“Sure, man,” Troy shrugs.

When Abed comes out of the store, he tosses the bag in the back and won’t tell Troy what’s inside. “It’s a surprise,” he says, with a twinkle in his eye. That could mean any number of things, most of which are probably good, but some of which might also end with Annie coming home and chastising them for making a mess of the apartment.

He doesn’t have to wait long for the surprise, once they’re home. Abed pulls out two pints of ice cream from the bag and grabs two spoons from the drawer, motioning Troy over to sit in front of the TV. Once Troy’s settled, Abed starts combing through his DVD shelf, pulling out several and tucking them under his arm. After a bit he nods, satisfied, and hands Troy the stack of DVDs.

“Pick one,” he tells him, then sits in his chair, opening up his pint.

“Abed, these are all rom coms,” Troy points out. But he feels a tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“This is what you’re supposed to do when your friend breaks up with someone. Ice cream and rom coms. I’m also supposed to say things like, ‘you’re too good for him’, but that doesn’t really apply in this case.” Abed tilts his head. “Unless you don’t like it? We can do something else.”

Troy grins, feeling fluttery. “No, no. This is perfect.” He grabs _Sweet Home Alabama_ from the pile and puts it in the DVD player. “Thanks.”

Abed shrugs, a jerky motion of one shoulder. “Don’t mention it. I’ve always wanted to try this trope out,” he says, tapping his foot with excitement.

After a few movies, Troy yawns, stretching his arms above his head. “You know,” Troy begins, “if we’re doing the whole trope, I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to talk about your love life, too.”

Abed sorts through the pile of unwatched DVDs, since it’s his turn to pick. “Right,” he agrees after a moment.

“So, uh.” Troy scratches the back of his neck. “How’s Rachel?”

“Don’t know,” Abed says, glancing back and forth between _When Harry Met Sally_ and _Ten Things I Hate About You_. “I haven’t spoken to her since we played mini golf.”

“Oh,” Troy says, with an odd warmth in his chest. “I’m sorry, man, she seemed... Cool.”

“It just didn’t work out.” Abed opens up _When Harry Met Sally_.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Troy asks as he watches Abed pop in the DVD.

“No,” Abed says, shaking his head. “I’d rather watch movies with you.”

After returning Troy’s beaming smile with a small one of his own, Abed turns his attention back to the TV.

And for the first time in a long time, Troy feels the gears click back into place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s some parts of this chapter I’m really proud of and some parts I’m more “eh” about, but I suppose that’s what I get for trying to squeeze the entirety of season four into one chapter. (But can you really blame me? Lol.)
> 
> Next chapter is shaping up to be another long one. It’s probably the one where I go the farthest off of established canon, but I’m trying to expand and improve a bit on the gap after season four leading up to season five, so hopefully it’ll come together nicely with the rest. The length means it will likely take me a bit longer to finish, though.
> 
> Again, thank you all so much for reading and commenting! Let me know what you thought of this chapter. :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh god this was a doozy. 
> 
> If you're so inclined, my favorite Jeff/Annie song is Annie by Johnny Manchild and The Poor Bastards. Give it a listen.

Jeff’s late to their café meeting.

This is particularly annoying because _he_ is the one who has refused to return to the study room since he graduated, and therefore the only reason the five of them still left at Greendale are forced rush across town after class once a week to meet him. This isn’t the first time he’s been late, either. He’s arrived at least fifteen minutes after the rest of them for the past few weeks in a row, but this time he’s going on a half hour.

Shirley is telling Britta some story about Ben drawing on the walls while Abed scribbles something in his notebook, ignoring everyone else. Troy glances over to Annie beside him, watching her scowl at her phone as her fingers jab at the screen. He hears a ding from across the room soon after Annie locks her phone and looks up to see Jeff pull out his own, only for Jeff to roll his eyes at it and put it away.

“Hey,” Jeff says, walking up to their table with a winning smile that doesn’t meet his eyes. “Sorry I’m late. I got held up at the office.”

“How is work going, Jeffery?” Shirley asks, sweetly, as Annie pushes Jeff’s coffee across the table without looking at him.

“Yeah, how’s the spin-off with your evil old coworker?” Abed adds, shutting his notebook.

“It’s going well, Shirley. We got a huge case a few days ago, though, so it’s been busy,” he tells her, then, to Abed, “And for your information, Abed, he is the least evil of my old coworkers.”

“And what a high bar that is,” Britta quips, smirking at Jeff over her mug. He makes a face at her as she checks her phone. “Oh, Pierce says hi, and that he misses us.” She squints. “At least, I’m pretty sure that’s what it says. There’s a lot of typos. And Emojis. He must have just gotten an iPhone.”

“How is the old man?” Jeff asks.

“He’s good,” Troy says. “Still in Arizona. Last I heard he bought a house in Sedona, so he might be staying there awhile.”

Jeff’s nose wrinkles up. “Isn’t that place full of hippies?”

“And Neo-Buddhists, apparently,” Annie adds. “But he seems happy there, so let’s just be happy for him, okay?”

“Yeah, sure, whatever.” Settling back in his chair, Jeff dismisses her as he types something into his Blackberry. _Good to know some things never change_ , Troy thinks. “And how’s Greendale?” Jeff asks.

“Professor Cornwallis wants us to reenact the Revolutionary War for History 102,” Abed tells him. “The Dean’s been walking around in period appropriate dresses, and Chang’s taken a bit too well to the role of King George. So, it’s pretty much the same.”

“Don’t you mean ‘Kevin’?” Jeff asks with no small amount of derision. He still hasn’t looked up from his phone. Annie glares at him as she sips her latte.

“It’s Chang again. He gave up the ruse after they fixed that gas leak,” Abed explains.

“Right,” Jeff says. He downs the rest of his coffee then stands, shrugging on his jacket. “Well, as fun as this is, I have to get back to work. Have fun with your Civil War reenactment, or whatever.”

“Revolutionary,” Abed corrects, raising a finger in the air, but Jeff’s already out the door.

Frowning, Abed flips his notebook open again and jots something down. Troy winds a comforting arm around Abed’s waist as Abed stares troubledly at his hot chocolate, leaning into Troy’s side.

“Is it just me, or is Jeff becoming an increasingly larger asshole lately?” Britta asks. Annie appears not to hear her, still turned toward the entrance with her lips pursed.

“Oh, it’s not just you,” Shirley agrees. Clutching her purse in her lap, she shakes her head. “I don’t think it’s good for him to spend so much time with those people. They’re a bad influence on him.”

“Right?” Britta laughs humorlessly. “I mean, did you see he was wearing a _Rolex_? It’s like being a douche is contagious.”

“Annie?” Troy asks, resting a hand on her shoulder. “You okay?”

She jumps. “I’m fine!” She says, a little too brightly. “Who cares about Jeff? It’s probably nothing. Must just be work stress.” She starts to tear her napkin into little pieces before Abed reaches across the table and gently takes it away from her. “It’s fine. Let’s talk about battle strategy, right guys?”

As Annie starts listing off options for where to build their base, Troy catches Shirley and Britta sharing a look. And, when the three women take too long in the bathroom together later, he doesn’t comment on the flecks of mascara smeared under Annie’s eyes after they return.

**

Annie leaves the apartment after dinner that night, saying something about having an errand to run and rushing out the door before Abed can ask her to elaborate. Abed tilts his head at Troy, who can only shrug in response.

“So, still wanna watch that _Inspector Spacetime_ Halloween special?” Troy asks, if only for a change of subject.

Abed’s eyes predictably light up. “Yes. But I can’t decide between 1985 or 1992.”

“We can always do both?” Troy offers.

Drumming his fingers against his thigh with quiet excitement, Abed nods. “Cool. Cool cool cool. Your room?”

Something flickers, right below Troy’s ribs. “Yeah, sure,” he says. It comes out breathier than he intended.

“Ten minutes. Pajamas. I’ll make popcorn.”

Troy tries to remember, as he debates whether he should wear sweatpants or if he could get away with just the boxers he has on, when this started. It was sometime after he broke up with Britta, for sure. He thinks maybe it was when Annie needed the living room quiet for some reason, and the best way Troy and Abed found to work around it was to curl up together on Troy’s bed with a laptop. What felt like a one-time thing became a two-time thing, and then an every once in a while thing that slowly increased in frequency until Troy could reliably expect to end up with Abed in his bed at least once or twice a week. It’s always Abed who suggests it. Troy can’t, knows that if he ever did, there would be nothing stopping him from asking Abed to stay with him every night, which would inevitably lead to him begging Abed to tear down the blanket fort and sell the bunk beds, or something else similarly embarrassing.

He’s still standing there, sweatpants clutched in one hand, when Abed nudges open the door, laptop under one arm and bowl of popcorn held the other. Abed’s eyes trail down Troy’s bare legs before he clears his throat. “You ready?”

Letting the sweatpants fall back into the dresser, Troy kicks it shut. “Yeah.”

As Troy pulls back the covers, Abed sets the popcorn and laptop on the nightstand, then places himself in the middle of the bed, legs spread just wide enough for Troy to settle himself between them, which he quickly does. Once blankets have been pulled back over them and Troy’s balanced the laptop and bowl on his lap, he lets his head fall back on Abed’s chest, sighing happily as Abed’s arms come around him to use the keyboard.

He asked Abed, once, if he ever wanted to switch around positions. He couldn’t imagine this would be comfortable for Abed, but Abed said he found the weight of Troy laying on him oddly relaxing. Troy sort of gets it, but in a different way. He likes the way he’s moved by the gentle rise and fall of Abed’s chest, like the gentle roll of waves in the ocean. He likes how he feels bracketed in, how once the popcorn’s done, Abed will splay a hand across Troy’s stomach, sometimes slipping beneath the hem of his shirt.

The only problem with this arrangement is that Troy’s gotten some of the best sleep of his life sprawled out across Abed, so his presence causes a near-Pavlovian reaction. The first time they did this, he expected Abed to shake him awake, scolding him for missing all the best parts. To his surprise, Abed let him sleep and, better yet, Abed stayed. So, while he makes a valiant effort to keep his eyes open, to focus on the commentary Abed murmurs into his ear, he doesn’t feel too bad when his eyes slip closed somewhere in the second episode.

*

Troy wakes up in the morning without an alarm. It’s one of those slow journeys back to consciousness, where everything’s sort of warm and hazy, and he becomes aware of his body in pieces: His nose shoved against Abed’s neck, his fingers curled in Abed’s shirt, all the places their legs touch, tangled together. Abed probably moved the laptop at some point, because Troy’s twisted around in a way where he’s half on his side and half on top of Abed.

He notices now the delicate touch of Abed’s fingertips as they trace swirling patterns across Troy’s back. Abed must have realized Troy’s awake, because now his fingers dance higher up on Troy’s neck, brushing past the small hairs there in a way that makes Troy’s shoulders hunch as he groans softly into Abed’s neck.

“Good morning,” Abed says, sliding his hand down to rest on the small of Troy’s back.

“Morning,” Troy yawns, blinking his eyes open. “Time’s it?”

“Nearly nine,” Abed replies. “Hungry?”

“No,” Troy says, only to be betrayed by a rumble from his stomach. Abed starts to stir, hand warm against Troy’s thigh as he tries to move it with what Troy knows is only a fraction of his full strength. Making a noise of discontent, Troy clings to him tighter. “Five more minutes.”

Abed sighs, but relaxes again. His voice is warm and sleep soft when he says, “Alright.”

They manage a few more minutes of peaceful dozing before Troy starts to smell something aside from Abed. And that something smells an awful lot like burning.

“Oh, fucking— Shit!” They hear Annie shout, muffled, from the kitchen.

“Uh-oh,” Troy says, now fully awake, and the two of them scramble out of bed and into the other room.

They find Annie frantically waving away smoke rising from the oven with a plate. Abed runs to open some windows as Troy helps her pull out a cupcake pan full of something blackened and set it on the stovetop. “Are you alright?” He asks her.

“It’s fine, I’m fine, it’s just— I forgot about the muffins, God _damn_ it.”

“I didn’t hear you come in last night,” Abed says, reaching to flip the oven fan switch on.

She turns to face them then, and Troy can see wetness glisten beneath her red-rimmed eyes before she hastily wipes it away. “It was late.”

“Oh, Annie, it’s okay, don’t cry. They’re just muffins. We can just go out to brunch instead,” Troy soothes, resting a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“It’s not just the muffins,” she sniffles. “I went to Jeff’s last night and he, we...” Her eyes well up once again. She buries her face in Troy’s shoulder. “It’s over.”

Abed’s eyebrows shoot up. “What happened?” He asks as Troy pats her back.

“I called him out for being an ass, and he told me that I keep expecting him to be something he’s not, and that if I couldn’t accept that I should just go.” Her voice breaks at the end, and as she takes a few deep, shaky breaths, Abed reaches a hand out to her, uncertain. She grabs it, squeezing it tight before continuing. “So I said that if I left then, I wasn’t coming back, and he said he didn’t care, and I...” She sighs. “I know we weren’t serious, or anything, but I thought I meant more to him than that, you know? Maybe he’s right, maybe I’m just naive.”

Troy feels something like bile start to creep up out of his stomach. “That asshole,” he says. “I’m gonna go talk to him.”

“Troy, no,” Annie pleads, eyes wide. “Yeah, I’m upset, but if he wants to end things, there’s nothing anyone can do about that.”

“It’s not just that he broke up with you, Annie,” Troy explains. “We’ve all been friends for years, and the moment he goes back to being a slimy lawyer he starts treating everyone like shit? Even you? Nah, man. I’m gonna go talk to him.” He marches over to the door, grabbing his car keys and jacket. “You coming, Abed?”

“You may want to consider putting on pants,” Abed points out, and Troy looks down at his boxers, cheeks heating.

“Right. Pants, first. Then we go.”

*

They don’t even have to be buzzed up to Jeff’s condo, managing to slip in behind someone else. Troy marches across the lobby to the elevators before stopping short in front of them.

“Fuck, what floor is he on again?”

Abed reaches across to press the up button. “Don’t worry. I remember.”

Once they get up there, Abed leads them to the correct door, then knocks politely. They stand there for a minute with no response. Huffing, Troy pounds on the door. “Jeff!” He shouts.

Troy hears the lock turn, and then Jeff is standing before them in rumpled suit pants and a button-down, with dark under eyes and something a bit too far past five o’clock shadow on his cheeks.

“You know,” Jeff grumbles, “the polite thing to do when you knock on someone’s door early in the morning and they don’t answer, is to leave them alone.”

Rolling his eyes, Troy pushes past him into the condo. “It’s ten AM,” he says, eyes scanning the living room and sticking on the empty bottle of scotch on the coffee table.

“And now you’re inside. Great,” Jeff sighs. He scrubs a hand over his face, leaning against the island. “To what do I owe the intrusion?”

Abed shuts the door gently behind him and comes to stand next to Troy. “Why the hell would you do that to Annie?” Troy asks.

“Well, Troy, surely I’m not the first person to tell you that people don’t stay happy together forever. Aren’t your parents divorced, too?” Jeff quips in his usual sarcastic, detached tone. But there’s something coiled behind it this time, something that gives a mean slant to his smirk.

“She deserves better than that, Jeff, and you know it. She was your friend first. We’re all your friends, or are you forgetting that?”

“I show up for stupid coffee every week.” Jeff reaches behind himself to pick up a glass with a thin layer of light brown liquid at the bottom. He polishes it off, gritting his teeth. “I don’t know what the fuck else you all want from me.”

“You could stop being such a dick, for starters,” Troy says, and Jeff smiles. It’s one of the most goddamn condescending looks Troy’s ever seen on him. “You used to be a person. You weren’t always a good one, but at least you cared about some things. About us.”

“I’m so fucking tired of you all telling me who I am,” Jeff says, bitterly. “Has it occurred to you that maybe, you really have no idea?”

Troy shakes his head. “Look, I don’t know exactly what it is you’re going through right now, but—"

“It’s called growing up, Troy. You should try it sometime. Or are you really just content staying at Greendale forever, playing make believe in the shadow of your mentally challenged best friend? I somehow doubt being Peter Pan is as romantic as Disney made it out to be.”

“Watch it,” Troy growls. This time, when Jeff smiles, he flashes too many teeth. Troy’s reminded of a shark, the first drop of blood in the water.

“It’s okay, Troy,” Abed soothes, a hand on Troy’s back. “Jeff just has to return to his roots in order to highlight his character development.”

“For the last time, this isn’t one of your fucking TV shows!” Jeff shouts, loud enough that Troy flinches. Abed goes still, eyes wide and blinking rapidly. “This is real life. And in real life, there’s no heroes. In real life, there’s no happy ending. In real life, people don’t find the quirky side character charming. They just get sick of him. How long, do you think, until everyone else gets tired of this, too?”

Troy doesn’t even notice his fingers curling into a fist, doesn’t even realize he’s stalked forward until he’s already wound back and punched Jeff square in the face.

Abed takes Troy by the shoulders, tugs him away before he can hit Jeff again. Which is probably for the best, but he still fights vainly against it.

“Christ,” Jeff says, clutching his nose. A bit of rust tinged red stains his teeth.

“Troy,” Abed murmurs, coaxing him to the door. “Troy, come on.”

“I’m not sorry,” Troy spits as Jeff glares at them. To his embarrassment, tears start to leak out of his eyes. “You fucking deserved it. You don’t get to... No one gets to talk about him like that.”

“No one besides you, you mean?” Jeff steps closer, the blood only serving to make his grin more feral. It’s like he’s asking to get hit again. Troy lunges forward, but Abed grabs him before he can, twisting his arms behind his back and holding him to his chest.

“Troy, no,” Abed says, right into his ear. It’s soft, but firm enough that Troy sags back against Abed despite himself.

He lets himself get dragged into the hallway. “Don’t bother coming to coffee next week!” Troy shouts, voice thick through the tears, as Abed kicks the door shut.

When they get out onto the street, Abed digs through Troy’s jacket pocket until he finds his keys, unlocking the car and helping Troy into the passenger seat.

“Wait, no,” Troy sniffles. “I can drive.”

“So can I,” Abed counters. He’s not wrong, but he’s ignoring the part that matters, which is that he doesn’t like to. “It’s fine. F-Y-N-E.”

“No, it’s not.” Taking a shuddering breath, Troy angles towards him. “I shouldn’t even be the one crying.”

“Jeff said mean things to you, too,” Abed says as he turns the key in the ignition.

“Yeah, but not like—” Troy pauses, searching Abed over for any miniscule signs of distress and finding none. “You know none of what he said is true, right?”

Abed shrugs, eyes on the road as he pulls out into traffic. “I know he was trying to hurt me. It didn’t work because it wasn’t anything new. I’ve more or less been told that my entire life.”

Troy just looks at him, trying to think of how to say it, which version of “I’ll never leave you” would be enough to make Abed believe it, to undo the few times Troy already has. It’s a promise he knows is somewhat out of his control to keep. But he wants— ignoring the ache in his knuckles from where they collided with Jeff’s cheek, ignoring the fact that Abed’s driving and it would surely make them crash— to grab Abed by the chin and force him to see it in Troy’s eyes, how much he means it.

“Well,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “It’s not true for you and me, okay?”

Abed stares straight through the windshield. “Okay.”

**

It’s odd, the way they all adjust to life without Jeff. Annie lets them acknowledge it after they get home from Jeff’s condo, even lets Abed do an ice cream and rom com night for her. He says it’s a better homage than when Troy broke up with Britta, since Annie actually gets to cry and talk about what an asshole Jeff is. And, considering what happened that morning, Troy ends up crying and complaining along with her.

But after that night, she pretends like nothing ever happened. She goes back to her chipper self, humming while she cleans around the apartment, baking when she gets an afternoon off, and keeping their study group (down to five, now) on track every session. She never says his name. When someone else brings him up, she purses her lips until they go pale, then smiles brightly and changes the subject.

Troy can hear her sometimes, though— late at night, when he gets up to use the bathroom— sniffling behind her closed door.

**

Troy hates Easter.

Not that you could call what his family does “Easter”. It’s more that they use the holiday as an excuse to get together and pointedly _not_ celebrate Easter. He still goes over to his father’s house that Sunday, though, and suffers through an awkward conversation with his father’s girlfriend while he munches on some carrots from the vegetable spread. He’s even managed to avoid drawing the ire of Nana Barnes, so all in all, he’s definitely had _worse_ Easters.

He stays behind at the end to help clean up, because it’s polite, and because it eases the guilt he feels at not wanting to be there in the first place.

“So, Troy,” his dad starts, passing him some glasses to put in the dishwasher. “How’s school going?”

Troy can’t decide if this is headed somewhere, of if his father is asking just to ask. “It’s going alright.”

“You’re in your fourth year now, aren’t you? Started thinking about what you’ll do once you graduate?”

There it is. “I don’t know, Dad. I don’t even know if I’m graduating this year,” he admits.

“Oh,” his dad says, with that same stiff disappointment Troy remembers from the hospital, after the keg flip. His stomach turns over at the sound of it.

He scrambles for something else to offer. “I’m nearly done with my degree at the air conditioning repair school, though, so... I might do something with that.”

It’s a lie, because he’s been done with his degree since the AC repairmen declared him their messiah, and he’s armed with the unnerving knowledge that they’d probably be willing to offer him far more than that, if he asked. But his dad seems to buy it easily enough. “Good money in that,” he says.

“Yeah,” Troy agrees, fidgeting with the dishtowel as he dries his hands. “But I don’t know for sure if I’ll go into that. I don’t know if it’s what I really want to do.”

“Well, maybe you should think about that. About what you really want to do,” his dad suggests. Nodding, Troy tries not to think about how he answered that question the last time it was asked of him, or whether the answer’s changed. “I just want you to be happy, Troy, you know?”

Troy smiles wanly as his dad claps him on the shoulder. “I know. Me, too.”

*

When Troy gets home, he flops face down on the couch. Annie and Abed look up from their work at the dining table.

“How was your dad’s?” Annie asks, hesitant. Troy just lets out a muffled groan in response. She pads over to him before settling on the floor, a hand on his shoulder. “That bad, huh?”

Abed comes to kneel at the other end of the couch, running his palm down Troy’s calf. It relaxes him, albeit slightly. He turns his head to the side, so his words don’t get trapped in the cushions. “He asked me what I wanted to do with my life. I don’t understand why people keep asking me that. I never know.”

Annie hums sympathetically while Abed cocks his head to the side. “Does the answer have to be different than what you’re doing right now?”

“Yes,” Troy says. “The answer involves graduating. And a job. A house. Maybe some kids, I don’t know.” He makes a noise of frustration. “You’re so lucky Annie, already knowing what you want.”

“I wish that was true,” she grumbles.

“What about forensics?” Abed asks.

“I don’t know.” She sighs, turning to lean her head against the side of the couch. “I’d have to do another year to finish it, and I’m already done with hospital administration, so...”

“But you hate hospital administration,” Troy says, frowning.

“It’s a secure job,” she counters. “And besides, if I don’t finish in four years, then I... I’ve failed.”

“Annie,” Abed says, “do you think Britta’s failed because she needs another year to finish her psych degree?”

“What? No!”

“Do you think I’ve failed because I need another year to graduate?” He presses.

“No, Abed, of course not!” She says, offended. “Why would you even—”

“Then why are you holding yourself to different standards than us?” Abed fixes her with a challenging stare. She opens and closes her mouth a few times, very much like a fish, before her shoulders slump in defeat. “You should do what you love,” he tells her, as though it’s that simple, that obvious. “You should both do what you love.”

Warmth spreads through Troy then, like a gentle wildfire. Even with his blunt manner, Abed’s gotten better at this, the comforting people thing, since they all met. “I don’t know what that is, for me,” Troy says, like he doesn’t already know. The real answer’s just not a viable option.

“Well, do you like what you’re doing right now?” Abed asks.

“Yeah, but—”

“Then keep doing it,” Abed says. “The AC jobs you take more than cover classes and rent. You have plenty of time to figure out what you’d like to do next.”

Much like Annie, Troy is shocked into silence for a while. “Huh,” he says, slow. “I really can just do that, can’t I?”

“Yup,” Abed nods, popping the P.

“Thanks, Abed.” Troy cranes his head to grin at him and the corners of Abed’s mouth turn up in response. “That really helped.”

“Yeah, it did.” Annie says, leaning over to pull Abed into a hug. “Thank you.”

“I would like to clarify,” Abed says, as Troy clambers off the couch to turn it into a group hug, “that while I will be sad when you both eventually move on with your lives, my advice had no ulterior motive. I do genuinely believe staying at Greendale another year is what’s best for you.”

“I know, buddy,” Troy says into his shoulder. “I know.”

They stay like that for a long time, all of them awkwardly wrapped around each other, but Troy can’t find it in himself to move. He needed this. Maybe they all did.

When Annie speaks, it’s almost too quiet to hear. “If I say something,” she says, “can you just let me say it and not comment on it after?”

“Sure,” Troy says. He feels Abed tap her shoulder in agreement.

“I miss him,” Annie says, softly, miserably.

And because he promised, Troy doesn’t say anything in response. He just nods, and squeezes them both a little tighter.

**

The end of the school year sort of creeps up on them. Britta applies her event planning talents to Shirley’s graduation ceremony. They hold it in the study room, because where else would they? Pierce even comes up for it, considerably tanner, and wearing what Troy can only assume is something closer to what he would have worn in the 60s.

They sit around the table after it’s over, catching each other up on their lives, all ignoring the conspicuously empty chair. It’s the best time they’ve had in a while, and Troy’s surprised to notice just how much he missed Pierce. He hasn’t always been the best friend to them, and there was a time Troy would have thought it impossible, but he’s family, and he loves him, so he missed him.

“So, any word from Jeff?” Pierce waits until everyone else is distracted by Shirley opening her gifts to ask Troy, employing a subtlety rarely seen from him.

Troy shakes his head. “Nope. Nothing.” He filled Pierce in on what happened a few months ago. Not every gory detail, but enough that he understood it was a delicate subject.

“I think he’ll come around eventually.” Pierce folds his hands on the table, watching Shirley tear open the wrapping on the new apron Britta bought her. “I did. I hope he does, too.”

“He better have one hell of an apology, after what he said to Abed,” Troy mutters darkly.

Pierce turns his head slightly, watching Troy from the corner of his eye. “We all make mistakes, Troy. Some worse than others, yes, but we deserve a chance to fix them, where we can.” Likely seeing how the words don’t change the set of Troy’s jaw, Pierce sighs. “Well, what about you and Abed? Have you, ah... Figured everything out yet?”

“We’re gonna be at Greendale another year, at least.”

“That’s not exactly what I...” Pierce starts, then shakes his head at the furrow in Troy’s brow. “Never mind,” he says, slapping Troy on the back. “Don’t worry. You’ve got plenty of time to work that out, kid.”

*

The first week of the summer, Troy, Annie, and Abed come up with the idea to spread Abed’s blanket fort into the rest of the living room for the weekend, a sort of miniature version of what they’d do at Greendale. It takes some trips to thrift stores for extra sheets and some switching around of schedules to make sure they all have off work, but everything falls into place with little problem.

Watching movies in a blanket fort is way cooler than watching movies normally. Eating dinner at the table is somehow even cooler than that, with the twinkle lights Annie bought for ambiance casting a warm glow over the blankets draping down from the vaulted ceiling. It’s like eating in a fancy tent.

Saturday night, right before they’re about to start the next movie, someone knocks.

“I’ll get it,” Annie says, sing song, as she crawls out of the fort to open the door.

“Don’t close the door,” Troy hears Jeff plead, words slightly slurred. He and Abed sit up straighter, turning to stare at each other with wide eyes.

“Jeff,” Annie says, faintly. “How did you get up here?”

“The brick,” Jeff explains. “Is that a blanket fort?”

“Yeah,” Annie says, taking a shaky breath.

“And are those footie pajamas?” Jeff asks, a hint of mirth in his voice.

“Maybe I _should_ close the door on you,” Annie says, voice icing over as she overcomes her initial shock.

Troy makes a move to crawl out after her, but Abed holds him back. When Troy raises a brow, he whispers, “We’ll know if she needs us.”

“No, no, no, just wait,” Jeff pleads. “I’m sorry. They look cute.”

Annie snorts. “Are you _drunk_?”

“Maybe.” There’s a pause. “You remember that case? The one I was working on, before we... Well, I won it.”

“Congratulations,” Annie says, dryly. “Is that why you came here? To brag?”

“No. Not to brag.” Troy hears a floorboard creak and pictures Jeff shifting his weight. “I didn’t want to win it, actually. I tried to throw it at the end, but it was too late. I guess I’m just too good a lawyer.”

“I know it’s borderline impossible for you, but I’m gonna need you to stop stroking your own ego for a bit,” Annie says, starling a laugh out of Jeff. “Why would you throw the case?”

“It was during closing arguments, and I listened to what I was saying, and it was just... Oil tycoon, Monopoly man, mustache twirling, evil capitalist type evil. And I kept picturing you in the jury box, imagining your face, if you were listening...” Troy can count on one hand the number of times he’s seen Jeff cry. To his shock, Jeff’s voice sounds thick with tears now. “And I thought, what kind of person does this? A bad one. And I must be a really horrible person, if I’m doing this.”

“Jeff...” Annie says.

“I know who you think I am, Annie. But I’m not a good person. I’m selfish and apathetic. I lie and I cheat and I manipulate people to get what I want. But you always thought I could be more than that. And I want to, for you. You make me want to be more than what I am.”

The silence is heavy as Jeff waits for her to respond. “I’m going to call you a cab,” she says, eventually.

“Annie, I—”

“Just, wait a minute, okay? I’m going to call you a cab.” Troy listens as she tells the driver on the other end their address, before a soft beep indicates she’s hung up.

“I’m sorry, Annie. I’m so, so sorry. I fucked everything up.” Troy can hear Jeff’s heaving breaths as he openly sobs, no longer holding back.

Annie exhales. “I think, maybe, you should be talking to your therapist about this, and not me.”

“Wait, Annie—"

“You should go home,” she tells him, with conviction. “Go home, and make an appointment. I don’t want to see you again until you’ve talked to Dr. Albright, okay?”

“Okay,” Jeff says. “Okay. I just... I just want you to know, I think I—”

“Don’t,” Annie warns, voice trembling. “Don’t say that unless you’re sure you mean it.” Silence, again, until a horn honks outside. “I think that’s your cab.”

“I miss you,” Jeff says, instead.

“Me, too,” Annie whispers. “Good night, Jeff.”

Troy considers going out to check on Annie, once the door clicks shut, but he imagines if he were in her position, he might need a moment alone.

It isn’t that long before she crawls back in, joining them on the floor and wiping her tearstained cheeks with the heel of her hand. “I’m guessing you heard all of that, huh?”

“Yeah,” Troy says. “Are you okay? Do you wanna talk about it?”

“No, I think I’m okay.” She dabs at her eyes with the tissue Abed offers her. “Let’s just start the movie. What’re we watching?”

“ _The Road to El Dorado_ ,” Abed says, pulling the DVD from the stack. “How does that sound?”

Annie gives him a watery smile. “Sounds perfect.”

**

“We could go to another bar, you know, instead of the one you work at,” Troy says to Britta as he flashes the bouncer his ID.

“I don’t mind,” she says, pulling him over to an empty pair of stools by the bar. “Besides, my familiarity with this place is only gonna help with my mission to get you _laid_.”

“Isn’t this weird for you?” He asks. She shoots him a look as she flags down the bartender.

“Martini for me, seven and seven for my friend,” she says, then turns back to Troy. “No, it’s not weird.” He raises a brow in disbelief. “And I promise I’d tell you if it was. It’s been what, six months since we broke up? And have you fucked anyone since then?”

Troy doesn’t want to answer that. “Still, you don’t have to—”

“I want to,” she assures him, raising her martini at him once the bartender hands it over. “But don’t feel too special. Annie was supposed to be the one I dragged out tonight, but she cancelled last minute.”

Swirling the straw around his glass, Troy snorts. “Really? You wanted to try to get _Annie_ laid?”

“Don’t laugh,” Britta scolds. “I don’t think she’s gotten _any_ since—” She cuts herself off, eyes darting away from Troy while she takes a hasty sip of her drink.

“Since what?” Troy asks. Britta shakes her head.

“Nothing. Forget I said anything,” she says, adjusting the strap of her shirt and looking around the room.

It dawns on him then. “Oh, my God,” he gasps. “You _knew_?”

“Please,” she laughs. “It was the worst kept secret this group has had since _I_ was sleeping with Jeff.” She whips her head back around then, eyeing him critically. “Wait, how did _you_ know?”

“She left a pair of his underwear in our dryer, like a year and a half ago.”

“See, I was never that sloppy,” she grins.

Troy nudges her with his shoulder. “Oh, yeah, sure, Ms. ‘leprechauns took our clothes’, you were never that sloppy.”

“Oh, shut up,” she grumbles, nudging him back. Then she sighs, examining the olives as they bob around her martini. “He really did a number on her, didn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Troy agrees. He picks up his drink again, taking a moment to watch a group of friends clustered around the dartboard, laughing with each other in the dim light. “He came by the apartment, the other night. Drunk.”

“Shit,” Britta winces. “She didn’t take him back, did she?”

“No, no,” he assures her. “She told him to go talk to his therapist.

Britta nods approvingly. “Good for Annie.”

Britta never told him what Jeff said to her, when she took her turn trying to talk some sense into him. Whatever it was, it was bad enough to keep her from trying again, and Troy didn’t want to pry. Still, he finds himself asking, “If he said he was sorry, would you forgive him?”

“If he really meant it?” Britta shrugs. “Then yeah, sure.”

“Really? Just like that?”

“How many times have we all had to forgive each other, by now?” She counters. “Besides, as weird as it is to say, given how many of us have had sex with each other, we’re still a family, aren’t we?”

“Yeah,” Troy says, “I guess.”

A woman steps through the door behind the bar, tying a black apron around her waist. Britta seems immediately distracted from their conversation, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as her eyes track the woman. And taking a closer look at her, Troy gets it. She’s got piercings, a full sleeve of tattoos, and dark purple hair. She’s the kind of cool Troy finds unapproachable, but he imagines Britta used to blend in well with people like her, back in her anarchist days.

A slow smile spreads across the woman’s face as she catches Britta staring. “Hey, Britta,” she says.

Britta’s cheeks tinge pink. “Hey, Amy. I didn’t know you were working tonight.”

“Yeah,” Amy says, noticing a man down the bar trying to get her attention. “Gimme a sec to take this guy’s order, I’ll be right back.”

“So,” Troy says, while Amy’s busy. “We came here to get _me_ laid, huh?”

“Yes, we did.” Troy smirks at her, waggling his eyebrows, and Britta chokes on her drink. “Shut up,” she says, after a bit of spluttering.

Amy wanders back over to them after handing the man a beer, grabbing some glasses to dry with a hand towel. “So, what brings you here on your night off?” She asks.

Britta slings an arm over Troy’s shoulder. “Trying to find someone for my friend, here. Do you know anyone who’s single?”

Amy gives Troy a once-over and hums thoughtfully. “What’re you looking for, exactly?” She asks him.

“Um...” Troy finishes off his drink, tapping his fingers on the bar. “No preferences.”

“I might know someone, actually. Do you want me to give her your number?” Tearing a scrap of paper from her notepad, Amy offers it to Troy along with a pen.

“Yeah,” Troy says. “Yes, thank you.”

After scrawling out his name and number, Troy hands it back to Amy, who pockets it. “Sweet. I’ll tell her to text you. Mission accomplished, huh?” Amy winks at Britta, who lets out a giggle before stopping herself with a look of mild mortification. Laughing lightly, Amy waves her fingers at them. “See you, Britta.”

“See you,” Britta replies, weakly, before slumping back in her chair. “Don’t,” she says to Troy. He presses his knuckles to his mouth, holding back laughter.

“ _Wow,_ ” he says, fishing some money out of his pocket and leaving it on the bar. “Smooth moves.” Britta just groans as he drags her to the door. “Come on, let’s go somewhere else to drown your embarrassment.”

“She’s just so pretty,” Britta sighs, looking back wistfully at the bar.

“I know, I know,” Troy commiserates. “You can tell me all about it later.”

**

“What the hell is he doing here?” Troy asks, setting the grocery bags by the door. It’s been about a month since Jeff last darkened the door of their apartment, and now he’s back again, sitting with Annie at the dining table. They both stand as he enters. Abed trails in a few seconds behind him, arms laden with even more bags.

“Please don’t punch me again,” Jeff says, holding his hands up placatingly. “I kinda deserved it last time, but it also really fucking hurt.”

“Well, it depends on how much of an asshole you plan on being,” Troy retorts.

“Can you at least hear him out?” Annie asks, batting her doe eyes. “Please?”

Troy’s about to respond with something along the lines of “Seriously, Annie?” when Abed interjects.

“Before the big emotional confrontation, can we put some of this stuff away? The dino nuggets need to go in the freezer.”

Troy can see Jeff physically restrain himself from making some quip about their food choices. He spends a few more seconds glaring at Jeff before he relents. “Okay, fine. Give us a minute.”

After everything’s put away, they join Jeff and Annie at the table. Troy crosses his arms, leaning back in his chair, and watches Jeff fidget awkwardly in his seat. It’s a strange look, for a man who so loves to be in control of a room. Troy wonders how uncomfortable the role reversal is for him.

“Alright, I’m listening,” Troy says, after a moment.

Jeff takes a deep breath, in and out. “First of all, I want to say I’m sorry.”

“Okay,” Troy says, flatly. “Did you say sorry to Annie?”

“We already— Yes. We talked yesterday. I’m just here to apologize to the two of you, now.” Jeff looks at him like he’s half hoping Troy’s going to just forgive him right away, sparing him whatever speech it is that he has prepared.

He’s not getting let off that easily. “Okay,” Troy says, again, nodding. He waits.

Jeff swallows. “I want to explain myself to you. And it’s important for you to know that I’m not trying to make excuses, but I think it might help for you to understand where I’m coming from. So, here goes.” He looks to Annie, as if for encouragement, and Troy catches her reaching for him under the table. “When I went back to being a lawyer, I started acting like the person I used to be, who was— as you said, Troy— an asshole. Being around all of you only made me feel guilty, so I wanted to push you away. I said really, really horrible things to you. And I’m sorry. I’m not going to say that I never meant to hurt you, because I did, but it still wasn’t okay of me to say that.”

While he tried to maintain eye contact with the two of them before, Jeff lets his gaze drop to the table now. “None of the things I said were true. Really, I think I envy you both, for not being afraid to be who you are, and for being able to be honest about your feelings. I grew up thinking there was only one way to be successful, to be a man. And I don’t think I liked the way it made me feel, when you proved me wrong.”

Troy softens a bit, at that. Jeff’s right, none of this is an excuse for what he said. But Troy can’t help but remember his own past, the type of person he was in high school. He had his moments when he was horribly mean. He helped shove more than a few kids into lockers. It’s a thing that haunts him, that if he’d known Abed, back then, he may have been one of them.

Troy turns to Abed first, who nods. “We forgive you,” Troy says.

Jeff’s eyes mist over as he stands, walking around the table to pull both of them into a group hug. “Thanks, guys,” he says, choked up.

And, because Troy’s always been a sympathetic crier, there’s an equal strain to his voice when he says, “You’re welcome.” Abed, for his part, just pats their backs while they let it all out.

“As adorable as this is,” Annie says, “and it is pretty adorable, don’t worry, I snapped a few pics—”

“Annie!” Jeff complains.

She shushes him. “We have a few more stops left on the apology tour, so we should probably get going. Right, Jeff?”

“Right,” Jeff says, disentangling himself. “Well, I’ll see you soon, probably. I, uh, got a job. Teaching. At Greendale.”

Troy and Abed burst into laughter. “You can’t be serious,” Troy says, wiping at his eyes.

“How did the Dean react to that?” Abed asks.

“Don’t ask,” Jeff says, through gritted teeth. “But yes, I’m teaching law, starting this Fall. Who knows, maybe I’ll even take a class, if you’ve got room in the study group.”

“We’d love to have you,” Abed says.

“We’ll see about that. I’m due to see Shirley next. She’s probably going to punch me harder than Troy,” Jeff groans. Annie slips her hand into his, squeezing it.

“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you,” she teases, standing up on her tiptoes to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Now, come on. She’ll be less likely to punch you if we’re not late.”

After they leave, both Troy and Abed cock their heads to the side. “So, they’re definitely back together,” Abed says.

“Yup. Do you think we should do something?” Troy asks.

“She’s a grown woman. She can make her own choices.”

“I guess you’re right,” Troy agrees, pulling out his phone to check the time. “Shit, I gotta go soon.”

“Why?” Abed asks. He follows Troy back to the front door, watching while he slips on his shoes.

“Remember that girl Britta’s coworker hooked me up with? We have a date tonight.” Troy grins at him, raising his eyebrows suggestively, but Abed just frowns.

“I thought we were going to marathon the original trilogy tonight,” Abed says.

“Oh,” Troy responds, stupidly. “We could always watch them tomorrow.”

Abed just stares at him, for long enough that Troy feels the absurd urge to cover his face with his hands, if only to get away from the intensity of it. Abed’s jaw twitches once. “Alright,” he says, finally. “I’ll find something else to do. Have fun on you date.”

As Troy watches him retreat back into the blanket fort, he tries to convince himself that it was just a normal conversation, that any extra tension he felt was just imagined. He very nearly succeeds.

*

The date is at a coffee shop. It’s nice.

She’s nice. She’s studying to be a middle school teacher, which Troy thinks makes her an actual saint. She laughs when he tells her that. She laughs at most of his jokes, actually.

But she’s never seen _Kickpuncher_. She doesn’t have that strong of an opinion on _The Phantom Menace_. Troy tells himself these shouldn’t be dealbreakers.

At the end of the date, he says he’ll call her. He feels sort of bad about lying.

*

When he gets home, he finds Annie alone, watching _Project Runway_ on the couch.

“Where’s Abed?” He asks.

“He went out with some girl from the film department. He told me not to wait up,” she tells him, smirking.

“Oh,” Troy says. He feels a twinge in his stomach. He was sort of looking forward to getting home and trying to convince Abed to at least start _A New Hope_ with him.

“Speaking of,” Annie says, hitting pause, “how was _your_ date?” She turns to face him, folding her legs up beneath her and bouncing one knee excitedly.

Troy’s shoulders sag as he kicks off his shoes. “Not great,” he admits.

“Aw,” she says, patting his knee sympathetically when he sits down next to her. “Was she awful?”

“No,” Troy sighs. “That’s the problem. She was really nice, and funny, and smart, _and_ she seemed to actually like me, but for some reason, for me, it was just... Nothing!” Troy throws his hands in the air. “I don’t get it, Annie,” he says, slumping back against the couch. “Isn’t that the kind of thing I’m supposed to want?”

She looks at him for a while, appraising. “If Greendale’s taught us anything, isn’t it that the things we’re supposed to want can be different from the things we actually want? From the things that make us happy? I mean, look what happened to Jeff!” She laughs. “Or Abed. Remember how his dad was at the beginning of Freshman year? Abed would be making falafel now if it were up to him.”

“I guess you’re right,” Troy agrees, frowning. Annie takes his hand, squeezing it.

“What matters,” she says, “is that you’re happy, so: Are you happy?”

A benign enough question, but aimed at Troy, it’s like a loaded gun. “I...” His voice catches. “I don’t know.”

“Have you thought about talking to someone about this? Like, someone more objective. A therapist, maybe?” The words land softly, carefully. Tiptoeing around a land mine.

He stiffens. “Why would I? There’s nothing wrong with my brain.”

Annie scoffs. “There doesn’t have to be anything wrong with you, per se. I mean, I see one.” She cringes slightly. “Okay, maybe I’m a bad example.”

Troy sits up a little straighter, turning to her in alarm. “Wait, why? Are you okay?”

“Yes, don’t worry,” she reassures him. “But I used to not be okay back in high school. And for the most part, I’m fine, I’m totally in control of it, but now I have to apply for grad school and try to finish another major in a year and sometimes I just...” She looks away from him, lamplight glinting off her wet eyes. “I remember how the pills made it easier to be _so much_ all the time, all at once. And then I also remember withdrawal, and rehab, and going to the ER to have them pick glass shards out of my skin. But the therapy helps with the real problem. It makes me not want to be _so much_ , you know? And I’m still working on it, but someday I want to feel like I’m enough.”

“You are, Annie,” Troy says immediately, and she smiles at him.

“Thank you.” She rests her head on his shoulder. “See, pre-therapy Annie wouldn’t even have accepted the compliment. That’s progress!” After laughing with him, she turns serious again. “I can have my therapist give me some recommendations, if you’d like,” she offers.

“I don’t know, Annie...”

“Promise me you’ll at least think about it, okay?”

And, partly because it’s a reasonable request, and partly because Troy’s always found Annie difficult to refuse, he says, “Okay,” and means it.

**

The waiting room at the therapist’s office is almost empty when Troy gets there, aside from a man and a woman Troy assumes are a couple because they’re sharing a couch. He also assumes they’re having relationship problems from the way they’re angled away from each other.

The room looks sort of dated, but it’s clean and nondescript. It has beige walls and dark green carpeting, with a somewhat mismatched set of furniture: A mixture of cushy couches and plain, stackable chairs. The paintings of flowers on the walls look like something Georgia O’Keefe could have made but probably didn’t.

Troy pages through an old copy of _Entertainment Weekly_ , not really absorbing any of it. He shouldn’t be nervous. Susan Richards comes highly recommended, according to Annie, and the picture on her website looked nice. He really shouldn’t be nervous.

“Troy Barnes?” Susan Richards looks up from her clip board as he stands and wipes his sweaty hands on his jeans. She has shoulder length blonde hair, glasses, and a kind smile that crinkles up the corners of her eyes when she looks at him. Gesturing to her office door, she says, “Nice to meet you. You can call me Susan. Come on in.”

The inside of Susan’s office has the same beige walls and green carpet as the waiting room, but the lighting in there is better, coming instead from a soft floor lamp. One wall is completely taken up by a bookshelf, packed to the brim with fancy-looking psychology textbooks. She has lots of leafy, well-tended plants scattered around. One table, the one next to the couch, looks to be covered in small toys, like a slinky, and playdough, and a stress ball. Susan catches him eyeing it and nods. “You can play with them, if you’d like.”

Sitting carefully down on the couch, Troy peels the lid off the container of playdough. “Thanks.”

“So, what brings you in today?” Susan asks him, flipping open a legal pad to a blank page.

“My friend said I probably should.” The playdough is a neon green, getting softer in his hands while he warms it up.

“Sounds like a good friend. Why do you think she suggested it?”

“It was after I got home from a date,” he starts. Susan stares at him levelly, her silence compelling him to elaborate. “It wasn’t that good of a date. Well, it was, or it should have been, but it wasn’t for me, for some reason. I don’t know. I mean, it might not mean anything. I might just be blowing it out of proportion. Abed got mad at me right before I left, maybe I just psyched myself out, and that’s all.”

“Who’s Abed?” Susan asks, pen poised and ready to write.

“He’s my best friend. And my roommate.” That doesn’t really seem like enough. “He’s like family.”

“Why was Abed upset with you?”

Troy starts to encase one of his fingers in the playdough. “I forgot we had plans when I scheduled the date. He said it was fine, but it didn’t really seem fine. He got over it by the next day, though, so it wasn’t a huge deal.”

“And does it bother you a lot, when Abed’s angry with you?”

“Yes. Mostly because it doesn’t happen that often. Usually it’s over bigger stuff than that. One time, we had this fight that turned into a civil war. It lasted for days. Our other friends had to pick sides. It was awful.”

Susan cocks her head at him. “Is that a metaphor?”

Troy laughs. “No. Like, seriously, we had a civil war. I wanted to build a blanket fort and he wanted to build a pillow fort, and the world record people were coming, so a war broke out. The whole school got involved. Someone made a documentary about it.”

Looking somewhere between horrified and fascinated, Susan clears her throat. “Where do you go to school?”

“Greendale Community College,” Troy tells her. “I don’t even think that’s the craziest thing that’s happened there. I mean, there was the Starburns wake riot, the secret trampoline, that time Chang turned into a dictator and kidnapped the Dean... Oh, and don’t even get me _started_ on the AC repair school—”

Susan puts a hand up to stop him. “Let’s put a pin in that for now. I’d like to ask you more about Greendale later, trust me, but we’re getting a little off-track.” Troy nods, watching her scan her notes. “You mentioned that you thought the date ‘should’ have gone well. What makes you say that?”

Troy shrugs. “Well, there wasn’t anything really wrong with her. She seemed great.”

“There are plenty of perfectly fine people out there that we may not be romantically compatible with. It’s not unusual to not want a second date.”

“Yeah, I know, but...” Rolling the playdough into a ball between his hands, Troy thinks. “Well, it’s like, the last person I dated was my friend Britta, right? And she’s great, too, but it just didn’t feel... _right_. That’s the main problem. There’s these great people but for some reason they’re not what I want.”

“Do you know what it is you _do_ want?” Susan presses.

“No,” Troy sighs. “And that’s just part of the larger thing, ‘cause I don’t even know what I want, like in general. I don’t know what I want to do with my life. I need to figure it out soon, too, because I need to graduate, and find a job. The finding someone and settling down thing, that feels like it should be part of it, of the things I want.”

“Well, you certainly seem to know what you _should_ want,” Susan notes. “Are there things you want, but think you shouldn’t?”

“Yeah,” Troy says, slowly. “I guess, I— My friend Jeff, once, he made it seem like I would be happy staying at Greendale forever, playing Abed’s sidekick.” Susan furrows her brow at that, so Troy quickly adds, “He was trying to be mean, he was going through some stuff. But anyway, I think the reason that hurt so much is that he’s kinda right?” The playdough squishes through Troy’s fingers. “One time, junior year, I had to make a choice between doing plumbing and AC repair, cause the AC guys wanted me to join their cu— school, and when I asked Abed for advice he told me to just do whatever I liked best. I ended up telling them both no, and I picked watching TV with Abed instead. Which was fine at the time, I think, but now when anyone asks me what I want to do that’s always still the answer. But it really shouldn’t be, right? That’s not a viable career option.”

“It doesn’t seem very lucrative, no,” Susan affirms, amused. Then she looks thoughtful. “Is there anything... _Romantic_ , to your relationship with Abed?”

Troy’s hands go still. “No,” he says. The back of his head starts to ache. “No, we’re just friends.”

“Okay,” Susan says, and she looks away to jot something down. “Then, would you describe your relationship as codependent?”

“No. I don’t know. Maybe?” He frowns. “Isn’t that you’re supposed do in relationships? Depend on each other?”

“Yes,” she allows, “but it shouldn’t feel like you wouldn’t be able to function without them.”

Troy thinks about that, about the sleepless nights he spent in the AC repair school dormitories, the way he wandered listlessly through his days, a shade of his former self. “But doesn’t it always feel like that when you’re that close to someone? Or when you lose someone important to you?”

“Let me try explaining it in another way,” Susan suggests. “Do you think that you define yourself by your relationship with Abed?”

He wants to say no, but the last thing he was before “Troy and Abed” was “Troy the Wonder Boy” or even “T-Bone”, and he definitely isn’t either of those things anymore. He supposes he’s also AC Jesus now, but he doesn’t _want_ to be defined by that, not in the way he wants to be “Troy” with “Abed”, Troy-and-Abed, _troyandabed_ , blurring together until it’s just one word, until they’re one discrete unit.

“Maybe,” he admits. “Is that bad?”

“It can be.” Troy bites down on his lower lip, wincing. “It might help for you to find some things outside of Abed to define yourself with. It seems to me that your main concern right now is determining who you are and what you want. Having a clearer and more stable concept of yourself will help with that. It also seems you place too much focus on what you _should_ be doing, and I would like to help you reframe the way you’re thinking about that. Does that all sound reasonable?”

Troy nods, already feeling lighter now that the next steps are laid out in front of him. “Sounds good.”

“Great!” Susan claps her hands together, then turns to a new page in her note pad. “Now, let’s revisit Greendale. You can start wherever you’d like, although I’m particularly interested in this air conditioning repair program...”

*

The next night, when Abed’s out having dinner with his father, Troy helps Annie put away dishes. After listening to her talk about what she learned in forensics today (the stages of decay, which she explains with morbid fascination), he says, “Hey, Annie?”

“Yeah?” She says, frowning at a water spot on a glass.

“Can therapists tell if you lie to them?”

Huffing out a laugh, she sets the glass on the counter. “They’re not psychics, Troy.”

“I know,” he says, defensive. “But they’re supposed to know stuff about your brain. Like how you think and stuff, right? Shouldn’t they know if you’re lying?”

“Maybe. They can be good at reading people, I guess,” she muses. “You shouldn’t lie to them, though.”

“Oh,” Troy says.

“They can only work with what you give them, you know? So they can’t help unless you’re honest.” Troy freezes, wondering if she’s going to catch on to the fact that this isn’t a hypothetical, when she pulls a bowl out and scowls. “How many times do I have to tell you guys to _scrub_?”

He exhales. “Sorry, Annie. I’ll wash it again.”

*

“Troy, come on in,” Susan says, warmly, as she gestures him into her office. He takes a seat on her couch, tapping his foot as he watches her flip open a pad of paper and settle into her armchair. “So, how—"

“I lied to you, last time,” Troy interrupts, the words tumbling out in a rush.

Susan raises a brow at him, but it seems more out of polite interest than concern. “Oh?”

“Well, I guess not so much a lie as I didn’t tell you something that was true, but sometimes I wonder if those are the same thing,” he rambles, grabbing the stress ball off the end table and squeezing it in his fist. “Like, Abed and I have a rule that friends don’t lie to each other. But I didn’t tell him I was coming to see you, ‘cause of how he gets about therapy, and it still felt the same as a lie. Even though I scheduled these for when he has class, so he doesn’t even know to ask where I’m going.”

“Right,” Susan says, jotting something down on her notepad. “So, what true thing did you neglect to tell me?”

“You know how you asked if me and Abed were... You know, romantic, or whatever?” She looks up at him then, gaze piercing behind her glasses, and Troy swallows. He focuses on the stress ball to shield himself from it. “I said no, which wasn’t a lie, ‘cause we’re not. But I didn’t tell you that we’ve kissed and stuff.”

He listens to the scratch of her pen. “Is it safe to assume that by ‘stuff’ you mean sex?”

She sounds neutral enough that Troy lets his breath out. “Yeah. But only once.”

At her thoughtful hum, Troy chances a look at her. Susan taps her pen against her chin as she regards him. “And the kissing? When did that start? And how frequent is it?”

“End of sophomore year, and it hasn’t happened that many times.” Troy thinks, brain wrinkling as he tries to count. “Five or less, definitely. The last time was almost a year ago.”

“And have you and Abed ever talked about it?” The question startles a laugh out of Troy. She narrows her eyes slightly. “Something funny?”

“Yeah, no, sorry, just...” His chuckle takes on a bit of a manic edge as he tightens his fist around the stress ball again. “No, we haven’t talked about it. It wasn’t even really _us_ kissing, anyway.”

“Could you elaborate on that?”

“Sure,” he says. Then he pauses, because he’s never had to put it in words before. There are some things he understands perfectly how to do but could never explain. Like how to make an air conditioner run again, which parts to move around and connect to others until it hums back to life. Or maybe it’s more like breathing. His body knows it, how contract and relax his diaphragm, negative pressure drawing air in. Imagine, for a moment, trying to describe the feeling of having lungs to a fish. Troy tries anyway. “Remember the Dreamatorium? I think that came up last time.”

Susan flips to a new page. “It was a sort of imagination playroom, correct?”

“Yeah,” Troy agrees. “And that’s where we did most of that kind of thing, the pretending to be other people thing. But we’ve been other people outside of the Dreamatorium, since before we even made it, and then also sometimes after. And I know that I’m not really another person,” he clarifies, hasty. “I’m not crazy, I know I’m still me. But I’m also... You have to understand, with the way me and Abed commit to stuff— it feels enough like I’m someone else that it starts to not matter that I’m not. So Han and Leia kissed, but they didn’t need to talk about it. And I’m not Leia anymore, so...”

Susan isn’t even writing any of this down, just watching him with what can only be described as fascination. Gulping, Troy crushes the stress ball harder. “Han and Leia may not need to talk about it,” she says, “but have you considered the possibility that Troy and Abed _do_?”

A small popping noise tears Troy’s attention away from Susan and down to the stress ball, which has ruptured in his hand, oozing something thick and white and sticky. “Shit, sorry,” he says as Susan pushes the trash can towards him.

“Don’t worry, this is hardly the first time that’s happened,” she soothes. He drops the thing in the trash, and she hands him some Kleenex.

“It’s like toothpaste,” he marvels, wiping at his hand. Then he sniffs it, nose wrinkling. “Smells like chemicals.”

Sighing, Susan smiles. “They’re cheap shit. I bulk order them.” She picks up her pen, writing some notes while he finishes cleaning up. “Now, where were we?”

Bouncing his leg, Troy pleads, “Aren’t you supposed to ask me about my dad, or something? Britta always talks about the edible complex.”

“Oedipal,” Susan corrects. “Is this Britta, your ex-girlfriend?”

“She’s also a psych major,” Troy mumbles, tracing the pattern on the couch cushion with his fingertips.

“Well, do you want to talk about your father?” Susan asks. It seems like a genuine enough question that Troy could probably tell her he does and spend the rest of the session on it, making something up like he did in acting class. But lying is what got them here in the first place, he knows.

“No,” Troy concedes.

“Want me to tell you what I think?” Nodding, Troy settles back, glad to be out of the hot seat for a moment. “You came to see me because you were dissatisfied with your life. And it seems as though your relationship with Abed is a large part of your life. Now, I’m not saying that you have to talk to him about this— the kissing and ‘stuff’— immediately. Nor am I saying that white lies and secrets have no place in relationships. But clearly, this rule of no lies between friends is important to you, and while you haven’t told him anything that wasn’t true, it seems that you still consider what you haven’t said to be lies of omission. Perhaps, if you were more honest with Abed, it would help you feel better.”

Troy blinks at her. His description of therapists as mind readers was wrong, after all, because there’s no way she pulled that out of his mind, as jumbled as it is on the subject. Yet, what she says still feels true. Maybe they’re more like fortune tellers with a degree. “How would I even...?”

“You could start with telling him about coming here,” she suggests. “That seems small enough.”

Troy laughs. “If you knew Abed, you’d know that nothing’s ever really that small with him.” He means it to be bitter, but it just comes out fond. “I’ll try.”

*

Abed closes the laptop and sets it on the floor beside Troy’s bed, then winds his arms around him again. “Troy?” His voice is quiet. “Are you still awake?”

Amazingly, Troy is. He’s been buzzing with enough nervous energy to make it through four whole episodes of _Inspector Spacetime_. The digital clock on his nightstand reads 2:00 AM, yet he’s still wide-awake, brimming with the words he promised himself he’d say.

Well, here goes nothing. “Yeah,” he says, turning in Abed’s embrace until they’re facing each other. “I need to tell you about something.”

“Okay.” Abed develops a crease between his brows. “What is it?”

“I’ve been seeing a therapist.”

“Oh,” Abed whispers. He slides a hand up Troy’s back absent-mindedly, which is encouraging. Troy half expected him to get frozen in shock.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you right away,” Troy murmurs, turning his face to the side. He nuzzles his nose against Abed’s sternum.

“It’s okay,” Abed says. Then, with slightly more alarm, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Don’t worry. I just needed someone to talk about things with,” he explains.

Abed frowns. “You can talk to me about things.”

“I know. I do.”

“Then you don’t really need the therapist.”

“It’s different.” Troy sighs. “She’s adjective.”

“Objective,” Abed corrects. “And I can be objective, too.”

“You can,” Troy acknowledges. “But she has a degree and stuff. And she gives really good advice.”

Drumming his fingers along Troy’s spine, Abed processes the new information. “Is it helping you?” He asks.

“I think so.”

“That’s good, then,” Abed says. “Thank you for telling me.”

Troy smiles. “Thank you for not being mad about it.”

Abed shifts them farther down the bed until they’re fully laying down, then pulls the covers up to Troy’s chin. “Your lungs sound fun when you breathe,” Troy says, pressing his ear to Abed’s chest. “It’s like the ocean, they make this big whooshing sound.”

Abed takes a theatrically large breath and Troy laughs, curling closer into Abed’s side. Abed shakes his head, but sounds amused when he says, “Good night, Troy.”

**

Here’s the thing about “economy of storytelling”: It works great in movies, but that’s about it. One would be remiss to describe real life as anything close to economical. If life is like dominoes, as Troy imagined, then it’s not so much a straight line as it is one of those convoluted winding set-ups people post videos of, with the rolling balls and tripwires. There’s still cause and effect, you still get from point A to point B, but the journey there can be as wild as your imagination— and the laws of physics— allow.

Troy and Abed (if we stick with the metaphor, here) have for a long time managed to follow along this path with minimal speedbumps. But there’s a chokepoint coming up, the third act, a single file line leading to a blooming expanse of colorful plastic pieces, the finale. Somewhere along this line lies the missing domino, and somewhere just before it is a phone call on a rainy morning, a funeral, an executer of a will. It’s fast approaching, now, in a rush of kinetic energy, the dominoes tipping one after the other.

And the missing piece is nowhere in sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I would like to apologize for the delay. School started up again (which also means grad school apps, yikes) and this one is really, really long, so it took me forever to finish. Hopefully, the length makes up for the wait. Thanks for being patient while I worked on it!
> 
> If I had been naming these chapters, (and particularly if I’d been naming these chapters after It’s Always Sunny episodes), this one would be called “The Gang Gets Therapy”. I wanted to give Troy more of a reason/build up for wanting to sail around the world, plus I think it’s realistic at this point that he’d have a lot of issues piled up that he doesn’t understand, due to the memory loss thing.
> 
> I also really wanted to give Jeff that one last bit of character development. Trust me, I also don't enjoy how much of an asshole he was in this chapter, but sometimes I think it takes falling back into your old behaviors to realize that it doesn’t work for you anymore. Plus, I think it’s a lot less sad if Jeff comes back to Greendale by his own choice, not just because it’s his only option left. 
> 
> As you probably picked up on, we’re quickly approaching the final act of this thing. (I even squished two of the remaining chapters together, so we’re down to 12 now.) I’m excited for you all to finally get to see the payoff I’ve been planning since I first thought up this fic. And since we’ve only got three more chapters to go, I’ve been thinking about what I might want to do next. I have a little half-baked idea for a Trobedison fic where the three of them all go on Troy’s trip around the world together. Not very fleshed out yet, but if that’s something any of you would be interested in, let me know so I can direct a little more energy towards that.
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading, and let me know what you thought of this chapter! :)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up: This chapter is NSFW. Also, I’ve added a tag for canonical character death for Pierce. If discussion of death and funerals is something that bothers you, take care reading the first part of this.

As Troy adjusts the lapels of his black suit in the bathroom mirror, his reflection stares back at him blankly. The inside of his head sounds like it does right after a bomb goes off in movies— just a high-pitched ringing. He wants to look into his own eyes, but he can’t seem to get the focus quite right, instead fixed on some point in front of or beyond himself, until everything’s blurred around the edges.

He doesn’t know what to do. Normally, when he dresses up this nice, he’d mess with his hair or put on cologne, but right now that just feels wrong. It feels wrong enough to dress up for this kind of event in the first place, but he supposes he doesn’t know what else he would wear. Jeans? Pajamas? He’d rather just not go at all.

He doesn’t think he’d forgive himself for that, though.

Without really thinking about it, Troy wanders down the hall to the blanket fort and knocks on the wall next to it. “Come in,” Abed says. When Troy pulls back the blanket at the entrance, he finds Abed with the collar of his button down undone, holding two ties in his hands. “Would it be rude to wear a clip on?” Abed asks.

Shrugging, Troy takes the real tie from him. “I can just tie it for you,” he says, stepping in front of Abed.

Abed watches him critically while he works. “How are you doing?”

“I don’t know.” Troy frowns as he adjusts the knot. “I haven’t cried yet.” He takes a step back.

After checking himself in the mirror, Abed grabs his jacket off the back of a chair. “I haven’t, either, but that’s not so unusual for me. When are you seeing your therapist?”

“Not till next week,” Troy sighs. He leans against the bunkbed, watching Abed fuss with his hair. “I thought I’d feel sadder than this. Instead it’s just... _nothing_. It doesn’t feel real.”

“Death is easy to understand as an abstract concept. But the way it makes you feel— the grief— it’s not predictable. I’ve seen it portrayed in hundreds of TV shows or movies, but nothing ever prepared me for how it would actually feel.” Abed fastens his cufflinks while he speaks, monotone and expressionless, but betrayed by the slight tremble in his hands. “I had a pet fish when I was in the third grade, and that was the first time something I cared about died. I was sad, which was expected, but I didn’t know I’d feel so scared. I guess it because I had the realization that anything I loved could die. Whatever it was, I didn’t want to let my dad out of my sight for weeks.” Shrugging on his jacket, Abed says, “The point is, you shouldn’t worry too much about what you’re supposed to be feeling, because I’m not sure anyone really knows what that is.”

Troy reaches out to take one of Abed’s hands in both of his, just to have something to hold on to. “Thanks,” he says, running a thumb along the inside of Abed’s wrist. “What about you? How are you doing?”

“Not great,” Abed admits. He blinks a few times. “But I think I’ll be okay.”

“Knock knock,” Annie says, from outside the fort. “Are you guys ready to go?”

Troy squeezes Abed’s hand once before letting go. “Yeah, just a sec.”

When they exit back out into the living room, Annie’s sitting at the dining table, wearing a black dress. She takes one look at them and bursts into tears.

“Oh, Annie,” Troy says, rubbing her shoulder as she dabs at her eyes with a tissue. The knife in Troy’s gut twists in just an inch deeper.

“Sorry, I’m okay, I—” She sniffles a little, taking a few breaths to calm down. “It just hit me all over again, that we’re actually going to his _funeral_.” She clears her throat, standing and smoothing her dress. “Which we will be late for, if we don’t leave now.”

“Annie,” Troy says.

“Come on, I’ll drive.”

As Annie digs around the key bowl, Troy looks to Abed, who simply sighs and places a hand on the small of Troy’s back, guiding him to the door. “Let’s go.”

*

Neo-Buddhist funerals are weird. If he’s being fair, Troy supposes all funerals are sort of weird, and he’s just used to a particular type. But on the other hand, when his cousin died, he didn’t get handed a set of blue robes at the door, or get pamphlets shoved at him in an effort to convert him, so maybe this one is just objectively weird.

The whole study group sits together in a pew. Shirley’s shoulders are hunched as she looks warily around the room, and Troy swears he sees her cross herself out of the corner of his eye. Britta sits next to her, chewing on one of her thumbnails while she reads through the pamphlets. Then there’s Jeff, who has his arm around Annie as she cries softly, a few tears collecting in his own eyes. Abed threads his fingers with Troy’s as a man (Troy assumes it’s the Neo-Buddhist equivalent of a priest) makes his way to the front of the room.

The speech passes in a blur, most of it sounding so insane that Troy can’t bring himself to pay attention to it. All too soon, it’s time to move to the other room for the viewing.

Troy falls in line behind the other members of the study group, hands in his pockets as he tries to look anywhere but the casket. Each of them takes a minute or so, speaking softly, or crying, or in Shirley’s case, praying. Abed takes a bit longer than the others, which lets Troy draw out the last moments before it’s his turn, but then Abed’s moving on and he has no choice but to step forward.

Troy fully expects the dam to break once he looks at Pierce, thinking that maybe this is what will finally make it feel real. He stares at him for a few seconds, waiting for the telltale prickle to start behind his eyes, but nothing happens.

The thing is, the body in the casket doesn’t look like Pierce. It looks like a wax figure— too still, too serene. The Pierce Troy knows breathes and laughs and yells indignantly. He stumbles, he stammers. He has the capacity to come off as a petulant teenager, and at times act like the wise old man he truly is. The Pierce Troy knew was in motion. He was alive. And while this may be his body, it’s not the person Troy knew, because that person is gone.

Because Troy’s friend is gone.

He thinks if he stands there long enough, that realization will seep past the parts inside him that feel numbed. _Come on,_ he thinks, _Come on._ He thinks about those commercials for sad animals, he starts playing _Come Sail Away_ in his head. Nothing.

He’s never wanted so badly to cry. But try as he might, the tears won’t come.

**

“Cool,” Abed says, “Cool cool cool.”

“That’s a lie,” Mara calls from across the study room, and Abed rips the lie detector from his hand before standing stiffly and walking out of the room.

Troy feels more than sees everyone’s heads swivel from the door to stare at him.

“Troy,” Annie says, voice wavering, beseeching. “Troy, you _can’t_.”

“I have to.”

Jeff scoffs. “No, you don’t. Like I said, I’m sure there’s some way I could get around—”

“You don’t understand!” Troy slams his hand on the table, and everyone flinches. “Pierce is _dead_ , and this is what he wanted. Don’t I at least owe him that?” Suddenly, no one can quite look him in the eye. He turns to Mr. Stone. “When do I have to leave?

“Within three days,” Mr. Stone tells him. Troy hears a few soft gasps. “Mr. Hawthorne’s Will was quite clear.”

“Alright,” Troy nods. His hands shake as he removes his own lie detector from his finger. “Today’s Sunday, right? Can you have everything ready for me on Tuesday?”

“I will have the arrangements made for you, Mr. Barnes,” Mr. Stone says.

“Troy,” Annie says again. A few tears roll down her cheeks as she looks at him.

“I’m sorry,” he says, getting up, “but I have to do this, and I— I have to go find Abed.”

Annie hands him the car keys wordlessly on his way out. There are any number of places Abed would have run off to, and Troy’s trying to decide where to start when he exits the library and sees Abed in the parking lot, leaning against the hood of Annie’s car. It stops Troy in his tracks, but after a few deep breaths, he makes his way over.

“Abed...” he begins. Then he stops, because he not sure where he’s going with it, anyway. And Abed doesn’t even look at him.

Sighing, Troy presses the unlock button on the key fob and Abed ducks down into the passenger seat. Once Troy joins him in the car, Abed asks, “When do you have to leave?”

“Tuesday,” Troy says, looking warily out of the corner of his eye, watching as Abed clenches his fist until his knuckles turn white.

They spend the rest of the drive home in suffocating silence. Troy knows he needs to say something else, _anything_ else, but he couldn’t get enough air in to do it, even if he knew the right words.

At the top of the stairs to their floor, he breaks. “Abed, can we please just talk about this?” Troy pleads as he follows Abed into the apartment. Abed ignores him, walking into the blanket fort.

Troy worries his lip between his teeth, pulling the sleeves of his shirt over his hands and tightening them into fists. The last time he’d seen Abed this upset was the war. Even when he found out about him and Britta, he still _talked_ to him. He doesn’t know what to do with the silent treatment. It’s making him want to crawl out of his skin.

His phone buzzes, a text from Annie. She’s staying at Jeff’s, she says, but he should let her know if he needs anything. Considerate of her, to give them space. Troy supposes he should feel grateful, but right now he mostly wishes he had a buffer.

He’s just shoved his phone back into his pocket when Abed emerges from the blanket fort wearing a bathrobe and flowery scarf. It’s not the full Inspector costume, but it’s enough to get the point across. Abed shoves Reggie’s shirt at him before walking into Troy’s bedroom.

Troy takes a deep breath. This, at least, he knows what to do with. He quickly changes shirts and follows him.

“Why?” Abed asks, in character, the moment Troy shuts the door behind him.

Never mind, Troy’s lost. He swallows. “Why what, Inspector?”

“You’re going on a solo mission across the universe, Reggie. Why?” Abed demands, fury and frustration bubbling below his careful composure.

“I...” Troy doesn’t know where to look, so he settles on the wall behind his bed. “The weapon we need to defeat Thoraxis, I have to do this to get it.”

“I don’t understand. The weapon would be useful, yes, but we’ve defeated him without it plenty of times before. We can do anything, Reggie, as long as we’re together. Why would you need to do this?”

It’s not just about the money, though. Maybe that’s what Troy said when he explained himself to the group, but he knows that’s not really it. “That’s just the thing, Inspector,” he says, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. “We always save the universe, together. I need a chance to see if I can still do it by myself.”

When Abed doesn’t reply, Troy forces himself to look at him. He can almost hear the gears whirring in Abed’s head. “But Reggie,” Abed says after a long moment. “Of course you could do it without me. Don’t you know that already?”

Troy shakes his head. “I don’t. Not for sure. And I need proof, or I’m gonna go the rest of my life not being sure. Plus, I think this will be good for me. I’ll come back better, stronger.”

Abed turns away. “You told me you wouldn’t do this,” he says, quiet.

Troy furrows his brow. “I’m sorry?”

“You... After Kayaclasch. You said...” Troy jumps as Abed slams his hand against the wall. He spins around, points a finger at Troy. “You _promised_ you’d never leave me.”

Abed blinks furiously, eyes shining, and Troy feels the room start to spin around him. “Ab— Inspector.” He takes a few tentative steps towards him as Abed rubs his eyes with the sleeve of his bathrobe. “It’s not like I’m never coming back.”

“You don’t know that,” Abed argues, collecting himself.

“I do. Unless I die or something, but that’s probably not...” Troy sighs. “I’m not leaving because I want to leave _you_ , you know. And it might take me awhile, but I am going to come back.”

“But you might be a different person, when you do. I might literally be a different person by then.” Abed walks over to him and takes one of his hands in both of his. “Please, Troy.” Abed’s voice is just his own now, so soft it hurts. “Stay.”

Troy’s chest aches as Abed’s eyes search his face. “I can’t,” he whispers, and Abed looks so stricken it’s as though Troy’s words hit him right in the stomach. “I’m sorry, I... I don’t know what else I can say.”

Abed shuts his eyes and takes a breath. When he opens them again, he looks resolved.

“Then let’s speak no more of it,” he says, slipping back into character and releasing Troy’s hand. “If this is the last night we have together, then let’s just be together.”

Troy nods, and he should be relieved that they’ve talked about it, in some capacity, and that Abed seems to understand now, but instead he feels like he’s missing something, like he’s all hollowed out inside and he’ll collapse in on himself if he makes one wrong move. He feels a sharp pain between his eyebrows and thinks to himself that if he’s really going to sail around the world, he needs to be brave. He decides to start now.

“Do you remember, after Kayaclasch? When we...” He trails off, trying to push past the nerves, trying to figure out how to ask.

Abed tilts his head, regarding him with curiosity. “Yes?”

Troy moves his gaze to Abed’s scarf, shifts his weight. “I still think about that sometimes. A lot, actually. And, well... I’m going to be at sea- or uh, space- for a long time. It’ll be lonely out there, probably, and I, I want you to...” He clears his throat. “For when I’m alone, at night. Could you give me something else to remember?”

He chances a look back at Abed and finds his eyes already boring into him, dark and intense in a way that makes Troy stop breathing.

“You should take off your clothes,” Abed says, the heat in his voice sending a shiver down Troy’s spine. Abed pulls off his scarf, throwing it on Troy’s bed, and starts to shrug off the bathrobe. Troy just stares, mouth dry. Abed raises an eyebrow. “Do you need me to do it for you?”

“No, I...” Troy says, dizzy. He grabs the back of his shirt. “I got it.”

He strips pretty fast after that, tossing his clothes by the door. When he looks back at Abed, he’s already naked. Troy immediately focuses on Abed’s dick, ‘cause it’s _right there_ , but he quickly averts his eyes. Abed, for his part, is raking his eyes up and down Troy’s body with an expression Troy normally associates with chicken finger day. It’s the kind of unashamed Troy should be used to from him by now. In this context, it makes his face burn.

“Get on the bed,” Abed says, going to turn out the lights. Troy moves with surprising speed, sitting down in the middle of the bed with his legs out in front of him. Abed comes to kneel over him with his knees bracketing Troy’s hips. Troy tilts his head up and Abed leans down until they’re only inches apart.

“You like when I tell you what to do, don’t you,” Abed says. It doesn’t even sound like a question, just an observation.

“How did you...”

“You’re hard, for one thing.” Abed points out.

“Um,” Troy says, failing to come up with a retort. He’s not wrong, after all. Troy has been hard since Abed told him to take off his clothes. Since he got that predatory look in his eyes, really.

“Also, the last time we did this...” Troy’s eyes flutter closed at the feeling of Abed’s breath on his lips. “You _really_ liked when I held you down.”

Troy almost succeeds on holding back a whimper. Before he can even start to feel embarrassed Abed’s kissing him, slow but searing. Abed’s hands come to hold his face, nails scratching gently on his temples, and Troy loses himself in it for a while.

When Abed pulls back Troy follows after him, but then Abed puts a hand on his chest.

“How do you want to do this?” he asks. Troy’s distracted by how shiny Abed’s mouth looks. “Troy, focus.”

“Right. I, uh,” Troy licks his lips. “I’m down for whatever you want, really.”

“I want to fuck you,” Abed says, and Troy nearly swallows his tongue. “And I want to tie your wrists to the headboard with my scarf while I do it. Is that cool?”

“Yeah,” Troy breathes. “That’s... Yeah.”

Abed nods, giving him a quick peck. “Cool. Cool cool cool. I’m going to need lube. And a condom.”

“Nightstand,” Troy says, weakly. “Top drawer.”

Abed pushes him until he’s laying back on his pillows, leaning over to rummage through the nightstand. He sets a bottle of lube and a condom on top of it, then reaches behind to grab the scarf. Troy lets Abed pull his arms above his head and cranes his neck back to watch nimble fingers wrap the cloth around his wrists and secure it to the headboard.

“Is it too tight?” Abed asks once he finishes. Troy gives an experimental tug, finding the knots to be sturdy but not uncomfortable. He shakes his head. “Good,” Abed says, before looming over Troy to kiss down his chest. He stops along the way to lave at one of Troy’s nipples, and Troy gasps at the feeling of the air cooling the spit left on his skin. After pressing his lips to Troy’s hip bone, Abed completely skips over his erection to suck at the juncture of his thigh.

“Abed.” Troy arches his back. “Abed, come on.” Abed scrapes his teeth against the mark he made before pulling away. Then, he looks up at Troy through his lashes and takes him into his mouth.

And okay, Troy’s gotten a blowjob before. More than one, actually, and they were all pretty awesome, but _this_. This, this... is _transcendent_. Troy doesn’t even know how Abed got so good at this, but the things he’s doing with his mouth, and dear God, his _throat_... It’s like Abed doesn’t even have a gag reflex. Abed swirls his tongue just so and Troy’s hips lift off the bed, only to be shoved back and held down by Abed’s forearm, braced against his abdomen. He’s not going to last long, at this rate.

He tries to fight against it, to contain the molten-hot desire flooding the pit of his stomach, but it feels dangerously close to overflowing. “Abed,” he moans. Abed makes an inquisitive noise, a hum that vibrates his throat around the head of Troy’s dick, and Troy’s vision almost whites out.

“Abed,” Troy gasps. “Wait, hold on—”

Abed pulls off immediately. A trail of spit hangs off Abed’s swollen lips as he looks at Troy in concern. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” Troy assures. “Nothing, just... I’m gonna come, if you keep going like that.”

Quirking a brow in amusement, Abed says, “Isn’t that the point?”

“Well,” Troy says. It’s hard to remember his argument, when Abed puts it like that. “I thought you wanted to fuck me?”

Abed shrugs. “I don’t see why I can’t do both.”

“Oh,” Troy says. His mouth is dry. “Yeah, okay.”

Abed grins. “Sweet,” he says, then he swallows Troy down again.

It takes a maximum of thirty seconds before Troy is spilling down Abed’s throat, thighs straining to buck up against Abed’s seemingly unmovable forearm. Abed only lets up when the tension leaves Troy’s muscles and he sags back against the mattress.

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Abed crawls back up to cover Troy, kissing him languidly while he comes down. Troy just opens himself up to it, going slack against the warm press of Abed’s lips and tongue.

Abed pulls back to look at him. “You doing alright? Wrists still comfortable?”

Troy giggles, the flood of endorphins making him warm and loose. “Yeah,” he says, smiling at Abed through lidded eyes. “I’m doing great.”

Abed kisses him again, soft and close-mouthed. “I’m going to finger you open now, okay?”

Troy shivers as Abed trails a hand down his flank. “Okay,” he says, “but it might take me a while to get hard again.”

A flicker of something passes over Abed’s face, something bittersweet, melancholic. “Don’t worry,” he says, reaching over to grab the bottle of lube. “We have time. Now, lift up.”

Abed slides a pillow under his hips after Troy raises them. Troy hears a cap pop open and looks down his body to watch Abed spread lube over his fingers, rubbing them together to warm it up. He feels one begin to press into his ass and screws his eyes shut, panting as Abed moves it in and out.

“How’s that?” Abed asks.

“Fine,” Troy gasps. “Keep going.”

He slides another finger in alongside the other, starts to scissor him open. And for all the imagining Troy’s done of this when staring at Abed’s hands, the real thing is so, so much better. At first, it’s a hazy kind of pleasure, something that doesn’t necessarily need to be leading anywhere. But it is going somewhere, and once Troy’s dick starts getting back with the program, Abed doesn’t let him forget it. Troy moans as he adds a third finger. Then Abed crooks them just right and Troy can’t help by pushing into his hand, vision going all spotty.

Knees falling open wider, he whines as Abed continues to rub against his prostate. He tries to be patient, thinking any minute now Abed’s going to replace his hand with his dick, but instead Abed keeps going, so tortuously slow that Troy’s covered in a sheen of sweat, leaking against his own thigh, reduced to incoherent and embarrassing noises.

When he forces his eyes open, Abed’s watching him with a rapturous fascination, like he’s cataloguing even the miniscule details of Troy’s reactions. He notices Troy staring back at him, then cups his cheek with a tenderness that’s almost too much to bear. And suddenly Troy remembers, as Abed’s thumb moves delicately over his cheekbone, the way he denied it when Mr. Stone’s asked, “Are you and Abed Nadir in a romantic relationship?” and the way his assistant confirmed, “He believes that to be true.”

“Abed,” Troy begs, a new rush of heat pouring over him at how wrecked his own voice sounds. “Abed, please.”

“Yes?” Abed prompts, a flicker of amusement passing over his face as presses his fingers up and Troy can only offer another moan in response. “You’re going to have to use your words.”

“Fuck me, _please_ ,” Troy nearly sobs. He feels like a bowstring, drawn taut and aching to be released. “Please, please—”

Abed withdraws his hand and its absence is near painful, but then he’s tearing open the condom, rolling it on and slicking himself up, and Troy’s babbling “yes” and “please” and “Abed”, until Abed pushes into him and Troy _keens_.

“Okay?” Abed asks, sounding strained.

Troy nods. “Okay,” he says, and Abed lowers himself over him, licking a stripe up his neck as he starts to move.

Troy wishes he could be more of an active participant, but with his arms restrained and body weak from both a fantastic blowjob and a thorough fingering, it’s all he can do to push up to meet Abed’s thrusts, taking uneven, staccato breaths as Abed sucks marks into his skin, over his pulse point, along his collarbones. Abed adjusts the angle, sending sparks running along Troy’s spine.

“Touch me, please, _touch_ —” Troy gets cut off by Abed’s hand wrapping around him, stroking him in time until Troy’s body tenses, toes curling and eyes rolling back, and he comes harder than he ever has in his life.

Abed follows soon after, then stays laying on top of Troy as they catch their breath. The weight of him is nice. Troy’s feeling so floaty that it might be the only thing keeping him down.

When Abed starts to shift, Troy makes a noise of discontent. Abed shushes him as he reaches up to untie Troy, gently rubbing and pressing kisses to the insides of his wrists.

“I’ll be right back,” Abed promises, standing up. “Don’t move.”

Troy nods, but it’s not as though he could, even if he wanted to. He’s experiencing the sort of bone deep exhaustion he used to feel after a particular hard football practice. His limbs are like rubber.

Abed soon returns with a damp washcloth. He sits on the edge of the bed and starts to wipe off Troy’s chest, his stomach, between his legs. There’s something about the way he does it— gentle, like Troy’s fragile and might break if he’s not careful— that makes the tears finally, finally spring loose from Troy’s eyes.

Troy tries to be quiet about it, not wanting to ruin the moment, but he can’t help how his breath shakes audibly on the inhale. Abed snaps his head up at the sound, and once their eyes meet Troy starts full-on sobbing.

Setting aside the washcloth, Abed leans over Troy and brushes his fingers on the side of his face. “What is it?” Abed asks.

“I don’t—” Troy’s voice chokes up when he tries to speak. “It’s... It’s everything, this whole day has been— Can you just hold me, for a bit?”

Nodding, Abed lays on his side next to Troy and pulls him to his chest, holding him close while he lets it all out. And there’s a lot to let out. There’s Pierce. There’s the fact that he’s about to leave behind everything he knows, which is only just now really hitting him. And then there’s the way that this— Abed, naked, his arms around him— feels so right, and yet so _wrong_ , like there’s something about this Troy should know but doesn’t, something that causes a twin ache in his head and heart when he thinks about it too hard.

“Are you going to school tomorrow?” Abed asks once Troy’s quieted down.

“I don’t see why not,” Troy mumbles into Abed’s chest. “I might as well have a last day.”

Abed’s breath catches at the last part. He holds Troy a little tighter, buries his face in Troy’s hair.

“Hey, Abed?” Troy asks, for a change of subject. Abed hums and Troy can feel it vibrate on his skull. “Those tracking chips you implanted in us, how far is the range?”

“They’re GPS powered, so...” He plants a kiss on the top of Troy’s head, absent minded, and Troy melts just a little bit more in his embrace. “Pretty much anywhere on Earth, I’d be able to find you.”

“Oh,” Troy says.

“Are you angry about it?” Abed asks.

“Well, you probably shouldn’t have done it. Not without asking,” Troy admits. “But... No, I don’t think I’m angry.” He yawns. “It sounds kind of nice, actually.”

“Yeah,” Abed says. He shifts so he’s laying on his back, letting Troy sprawl out across his chest. “It is kind of nice.”

**

Troy wakes up cold the next morning, alone in his bed.

He dresses hastily, throwing on sweatpants and a t-shirt from a pile on his floor. He checks the bathroom first, partially because he has to pee. It’s empty.

The blanket fort is also empty. He checks Abed’s alarm clock. It’s 6:45, which is much earlier than Abed normally gets up. He’s about to text him when he hears a key turn in the lock.

He scrambles out of the blanket fort, trying to act casual by leaning against the dining table. But it’s not Abed, it’s Annie, still wearing her dress from yesterday.

“Oh,” she says, blinking at him as she kicks off her heels. “I didn’t think you’d be up.”

“Me neither, I just... Have you seen Abed?”

“No, but he texted me.” She yawns, padding into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee brewing. “He said he’s going to school early, and not to wait for him.”

“Oh,” Troy says, fishing his phone out of his pocket. He finds a similar text from Abed to him, sent around 5:30 AM. “Okay.” His intestines start twisting into knots, like someone’s trying to tie a balloon animal with them.

**

The knots in his guts don’t begin to loosen until he hears Abed over the PA, and they disappear completely once he finds him in the hallways and they join forces, getting way too immersed in the universe of the game like always. It’s so much fun that by the time they roll the orb out of Shirley Island and crash land at the bottom of the basement stairs, he’s almost forgotten why they’re playing the game in the first place.

After climbing out of the orb, the two of them carefully make their way from shelf to shelf before Abed stops in the middle of the room.

“Okay,” Abed says, “we’ll go into the vents. They’ll never find us there.”

Troy watches the small smile on Abed’s face as he begins to search the ceiling for an entrance, and his heart drops. At first, he was glad to see Abed enjoying their last day together, especially after everything that happened last night. He thought maybe this was Abed’s way of sending him off, letting him know he was okay with it. But now…

“I say we take a stand here,” Troy says, shifting his weight. “I mean, someone’s gotta win sometime.”

“Not if we never kill each other.” Abed’s eyes are alight. “Then we can play forever.”

“Right,” Troy says, swept up, for a moment, in Abed’s intensity. He can see it— the two of them making a home up there until Britta and Hickey kill each other. Chang lived in the vents for months, and he’s _Chang_. Troy and Abed could do it, no problem. And then when it’s just the two of them, they could build an above ground pillow fort and live out of the cafeteria and the vending machines. He’d miss their apartment, but as long as he had Abed…

“Wait.” Troy shakes away the daydream. “Abed, the floor can’t be lava forever. The game’s got to end.”

The smile fades from Abed’s face as it turns into a look of pure panic. “It’s not a game for me, Troy.”

 _Oh._ Oh, no. Troy starts to worry the Cheetos he ate earlier will be making a reappearance. It’s been a long time since he last saw Abed like this. (It might’ve been daylight savings?) And Troy can’t even go to hold him and stroke his hair to calm him down like normal without also stepping in lava, which would almost certainly make everything so much worse.

“I’m seeing real lava because you’re leaving. It’s embarrassing, and I don’t want to be crazy, but I am crazy, so…” Abed’s speech comes faster and his voice trembles like he might start crying, and this is really, _really_ bad. “So, I made a game that made you and everyone else see what I see.”

Burning heat and sounds of bubbling from below tears Troy’s gaze away from Abed to the floor where he sees— _really sees_ , not just imagines— for the first time, the lava. He clutches the shelf tighter and looks back at Abed.

“I don’t want it to be there either, I swear. I want you to be able to leave, but I don’t think the lava goes away until you stop leaving.”

“So, the only way I can help you, is by giving up my chance to be one person?” Troy asks. It’s not angry, not accusatory, but as a matter-of-fact monotone as most things Abed says. When he hears himself say it out loud, the choice sounds so simple. He wouldn’t even have to _do_ anything; he just needs to _not_ do something. He had his reasons for making the choice in the first place, but all of them pale in comparison to this.

He’s ready to tell Abed as much when he’s distracted by a crashing sound as Britta and Hickey come sliding down on a bookshelf, landing at the bottom of the stairs.

They stand, dust themselves off, and shoot Troy and Abed evil grins.

“You guys ready for closure?” Britta shouts.

“Of your caskets?” Hickey adds, menacing.

Troy glances at Abed, who’s frozen and looking into the middle-distance, locked somewhere in his own brain. “Guys, stop, okay?” he pleads. “The lava’s real to Abed. It’s not a game to him.”

Britta drops the villain act immediately, brow furrowing in concern. “Oh, no.”

“You know what I think?” Hickey’s gruff voice interrupts. “I think he’s used to getting his own way. I think he’s never met me.” And before Troy can yell at him for being an insensitive asshole, he whips their deflated bubble into the shelves, and Troy watches them come toppling down one by one, like a line of dominoes. Abed breaks from his staring contest with the wall in time to hop to the beam across from Troy. By some miracle, the shelves stop falling before Troy’s goes down with them.

“Abed!” Troy shouts, and Abed swings around on the beam to face him.

In the distance, Troy can see Britta shove Hickey off the shelf, and he stomps up the stairs after yelling something at her. With that problem taken care of, he reaches out to Abed.

“Abed, give me your other hand!”

Instead, Abed fumbles around in his backpack and hands Troy the first issue of _Space Clone_. “It’s down to us. You or Britta will be the winner.”

Troy shakes his head, setting the comic on top of the shelf. “I’m not leaving, okay? Just…” Abed looks back at him— sad yet resigned— and Troy feels cold all over, in spite of the lava. “I promise! Just—" Troy stretches out as far as he can, until his face is inches from Abed’s. “The floor’s not lava now. Just give me your hand!”

Tears slip down Troy’s cheeks as Abed looks back at him, unmoved. Maybe it didn’t work. Maybe the floor is still lava for him. It is for Troy.

“I don’t think the lava’s here because you’re leaving. I think it’s here because I won’t let go.” Abed cups Troy’s cheek in his hand, brushing a tear away with his thumb. For a moment, the mask lifts and Troy sees the raw pain on his face.

And then Abed kisses him.

The kiss is salty, and sad, and Troy feels his heart grow two sizes before breaking, because it also feels a lot like a goodbye. Troy’s range of motion is limited, but he puts his free hand on the back of Abed’s neck to hold him there, threading his fingers through his hair.

Troy only breaks away when his shelf wobbles, threatening to take him with it to the ground. He lets go of Abed to steady himself, which is bad, because letting go of Abed means Abed can let go of _him_ , and if Troy can’t keep him here physically, he needs another way to make him stay. _I’m not leaving_ didn’t work, maybe _Come with me?_ No, that’s not enough. He scrambles for the right words, desperate, as his head nearly throbs with pain. The last domino starts to tip.

“I love you,” he says, and the memory slots back into place like it never left, like he had always known—

Three years ago, the library basement, a mortal danger far more real than this. This same feeling— adoration and devotion and desire clawing up his throat, like they’re trying to kill him— and every time he’s felt the same thing since, even having forgotten its name. Knowing now, as he did then, that he loves Abed, and knowing that nothing makes sense without it.

Troy snaps back to the present and sees Abed staring at him, the same look of shock and recognition in his eyes. “I know,” Abed says.

“Abed…” Troy reaches out his hand again, thinks for a moment that he’s fixed it, that if the whole world feels different now, surely this must have been altered, too.

But Abed shakes his head, shuts his eyes. “Sorry,” he says, and he lets go. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry about how evil that cliffhanger was, but I couldn’t resist. The last part of this chapter (the Geothermal Escapism bit) was one of the first things I wrote for this fic, and I’ve been waiting SUCH a long time to post it. The main idea of the fic was based around the fact that the part in the basement of Geothermal Escapism is weirdly similar to the part in the basement in Epidemiology, so this is where everything comes full circle and I’m excited to have y’all finally read it!
> 
> I would like to apologize in advance because I believe the next chapter might take me a little longer. (Which I know makes the cliffhanger worse.) However, if all goes according to plan it should be pretty good, so hopefully it’ll be worth the wait!
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading and commenting. Let me know your thoughts!! :)


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